Saving Herself
by brneyedgrrl
Summary: Jake Black is a cocky rising star in the rock and roll world, touring with the Difficult Wolves, playing lead guitar, and scoring hot groupies at every stop along the way. Bella is the cousin of pro groupie, Rosalie, and goes along for the ride to the one show that's near their home. The results of that encounter cause all sorts of mayhem. RATED M FOR LANGUAGE, ADULT SITUATIONS.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Greetings! This is a****_ very_**** different story from my first and second Fanfics - an AU take with a bad boy Jake Black and an extremely innocent Bella. Jake is a rock and roll lead guitarist in a very successful band, and Bella is the cousin of a professional groupie. When their paths cross, changes take place that neither side expects. This story contains VERY MATURE subject matter, really bad language, lemons, and some gratuitous drug and alcohol use, so if any of that offends you, please read with caution or don't read at all.**

**All recognizable characters belong to Stephenie Meyer, but the story is mine.**

I took a long drag on the smoke dangling from my lips and exhaled sharply without bothering to take my hands off my axe. My forearm shook as I held that last note, listening to all the little screamers drench their thongs. I made eye contact with a blonde with tits the size of grapefruits in the third row. She was mesmerized. Her douche of a boyfriend was unabashedly trying to feel her up as she raised her hands over her head, clapping for me. I winked at her, a slow smile spreading across my face. Lifting my chin slightly at her, I raised one eyebrow. It was my signature move, and it was never known to fail. Her eyes got huge. Just like every chick's did. Every fuckin night.

Fuck, if anyone had told me when I was six years old that the piece of shit I'd called a guitar back then would have the power to get me laid on a nightly basis, I'd've told them they were effing crazy. I swear, I'd've never bitched about the lessons once if I'd only known. My old man knew more than I did though. For once. Because here I was, 21 years old, getting more ass than a toilet seat, making a shit-ton of money and playing my guitar for a living. It was fuckin awesome.

I let the string go with a flourish, sweeping my hand up in the air and shaking my head free of sweat. It's a rock thing; you wouldn't understand. It's all for show and we all do it. When we leave the stage, there's a puddle of sweat around each of our feet. You'd think it was gross. You'd be wrong. Chicks literally wipe it up with their clothes. They love it.

After I shook out my hair and pieces of it stuck to the sweaty sides of my face, I took the pick and tossed it at Blondie in the third row. I watched as it reflected the light for a split second and then she jumped to catch it, her top riding up to show a good six inches of soft, flat, tanned belly. Yeah, I'd definitely be tapping that later. Her full lips pouted out in a baby-mouthed smile. Yeah, those lips would look great wrapped around my cock in about an hour or so.

The guys were leaving the stage and the roadies stood prepared to take over - but Paul, our lead vocalist, wasn't ready. "C'mon, one more encore!" he said, excited as he always was at a show. "Freebird!"

Seth and I groaned as Embry and Paul fist bumped. "No!" I insisted "No fuckin Freebird! I'm sick of doing that song. We'll be out there another half hour. Let's change up the encore and stick to our own stuff. Covers suck."

"C'mon, Jake!" Paul pleaded. I looked at him. His pupils literally hid his irises.

"Jesus, you stupid fuck. How much blow did you do before we went out there?"

"Back the fuck off, Black. Who are you, my mother?"

Embry giggled gleefully. If I didn't know better, I'd say that stupid shit was high too. But Embry never touched the stuff. He was a big enough pinhead without it.

I rolled my eyes at Seth, then regarded Paul. Of course I had to be in charge once again. I said, "We'll do Hotel California. I'll do some long riffs so you don't fuck it up too much, okay – since you're high as a fuckin kite. We'll be done in ten minutes. And I got dibs on Blondie, third row center."

"Hotel California?" Quil whined. "We'll sing 'em to sleep!"

"That's the idea," I said.

"Playlist says Freebird for the second encore," Embry grumbled. Everyone ignored him. We'd made that playlist at the beginning of the tour, and we regularly deviated from it. I'd decided weeks ago that Freebird was too much work for me after a two hour set. I played lead axe; I was the one doing all the performing for Freebird. Paul barely broke a sweat - what were there...ten words to that song?

"Blondie in the third row," scoffed Paul sarcastically. "I got my eye on_ twins_, mothafuckaaaa!" His voice went high at the end there and then trailed off. I stared at him, shaking my head and thinking of what an idiot he was.

"Don't strain your cords, man," I said, patting him on the shoulder with a grin.

Embry picked up a fresh pair of sticks and ran back out on stage, cracking them together over his head. The crowd was on its feet in seconds. Seth followed, picking up his bass where he left it leaning against a stack. Quil was out there a second later at the keyboard. Then I sauntered out. When I hit the stage the crowd got exponentially louder. But Paul always got everyone to go wild. The screams were deafening - and that was with earplugs in.

I started in and lighters flicked to life all over the theater. The spot was trained on me and me only as I plucked out an improvised, extended version of the intro. Seth stayed with me every step of the way - that kid had talent dripping off him. The Eagles always went acoustic on this, and while I respected their choice, I didn't agree with it. Besides, I liked the whine of my axe as I picked out the Spanish-inspired notes. You could've heard a pin drop.

As soon as the crowd recognized the radio-familiar eight count beginning of the lead-in, they were jumping up and down, screaming like they were in the presence of God himself. The spot expanded to include the whole stage. Paul practically made love to the mike as he wailed, "On a dark desert highway...Cool wind in my hair..."

I had to admit, the guy had amazing pipes.

At the end of the song, as I played the extro, Paul shouted, "Jake Black on lead guitar, ladies and gentlemen!" I raised my instrument up over my head, playing it behind my neck for show. For fun. The crowd exploded.

He went around and re-introduced everyone, starting with Embry. When he got to Seth, the crowd lost it again. Then it was my turn. I ambled over to the mike and shouted, "Ladies and gents, that's Paul BelAire doing our lead vocals!" Paul took a bow to the thunder of the fans. Yeah, that's not his real name. But BelAire is a lot cooler than Lahote. We assembled upstage and the house lights came up. We took a bow or two. Then we were out.

Done. The roadies took the stage as we cleared out as I threw another wink in the direction of Blondie. I leaned over to one of the crew. This was Emmett, a monster of a guy who'd been with us since the early days. He got plenty of tail in his own right, and I always sent him to bring me my groupie of the evening. He was nice to them without being too pushy, and never promised more than I'd deliver. I nodded in Blondie's direction. "Backstage pass for her, lose the boyfriend," I told him. He nodded once, finished coiling up the stack lead he was working on, and hopped down to flag her over. I disappeared. She'd be escorted backstage in fifteen minutes. Emmett was that good.

Back in the dressing room, we each poured our favorite poison. Mine was vodka, straight, very cold, no ice. I preferred it be kept in the freezer. One swallow of that down my throat revived me from the heat and sweat onstage. I finished it in two gulps. Shrugging off the black leather vest I wore as a shirt onstage, I tossed it on the sofa. "Where's the food?" I asked.

This was a rhetorical question that I asked after every show. It was meant to be humorous, though no one laughed any more. The table backstage was literally sagging with eats. As required, two coolers of 24 bottles of non-carbonated spring water on ice stood under the table. Seventeen diet Cokes and seventeen regular Cokes stood like soldiers on the end of the table, cooling their heels in an ice bath. Assorted 100% fruit juice bottles completed the beverage area - not including the bar, of course. That was set up in a different part of the room and had anything you could possibly want - or at least anything _we_ could possibly want. There were nineteen hot and cold sandwiches on the table. The sandwiches were wrapped and labeled, four for me, three for Seth, four for Quil, three for Embry, and five for Paul. In addition, there was always a large green salad with a "selection" (caterer-speak) of dressings and toppings, a fruit plate for twenty people with a minimum of six different fruits, brownies and cookies, and candy galore. Seth had to have a gallon of 2% milk, a loaf of white bread, and a jar of Jif crunchy peanut butter. Also, one jar of honey. For Quil. Don't ask.

I found my hot beef sandwich, prepared as directed, and set myself down on one of the leather sofas to eat. The first bite after that swig of vodka was always the best. This one was good. There was something about Midwest beef, and Chicago knew how to make a great cow-meat sandwich. The hot peppers mingled with the salt on my tongue as I sucked the juice out. Damn, I loved a good hot roast beef.

"You're eating that thing like you wanna make love to it," Seth commented with a grin, his own sandwich half-gone.

"Mmmm, I luff this schtuff," I garbled, my mouth full.

"Yeah, they make some good beef here. Where are we again?"

"Chicago," Quil supplied.

"Yeah, should've known," Seth said, taking another bite.

We wolfed the sandwiches down. Not only were we hungry, but the babes would be here soon. The gotes, as we called them, or groupies of the evening. Each guy usually had their pick. It was an odd night when Paul didn't have at least two (hence the five sandwiches) but the rest of us settled for one. I honestly didn't have the energy after a show - though I'd tried it a time or two. It was interesting, if nothing else. And one tongue on your cock and one on your balls is nothing to sneeze at.

I'd finished two sandwiches and a salad, and was munching some pineapple when Emmett showed up with Blondie. She was your typical gote; all, "Oh my god, I can't believe this, I'm such a huge fan, can I have your autograph?" Peter and Jasper came in just a couple of minutes later with Quil's pick and Paul's chosen ones for the night. Paul had spoken the truth; he had actually scored a set of gorgeous brunette twins. We went through the same scene again; it was like they'd memorized the lines or something. Seth grinned at me as I pulled Blondie down next to me on the sofa. "Hey, baby," I said. "Nice of you to come out tonight."

She seemed to be all star-struck and hesitant. It was cute. "Thanks," she managed.

"You want a drink, honey?"

"Um, I'm not really…old enough?" She pronounced it like a question.

"How old are you, sweetheart?" I asked, already knowing she was at least eighteen. Emmett was nothing if not thorough.

"Nineteen," she admitted.

I laughed. "You're old enough here, babe," I said, handing her my glass. "Get me a refill on the Ketel in the freezer while you're up." She took the glass and scurried across the room as if she were afraid if she didn't, she'd get kicked out.

Uhh, not with that ass, hon.

I winked at Seth as he admired her ass from the other couch. His redhead had just arrived. He liked the redheads. A slim Asian chick with boy-short hair straddled Quil's lap, her top already on the floor, her tiny boobs pressed against his face. Paul was getting busy in the corner on the futon with the twins. I liked to take a few minutes, get to know my prey before I started in on the meal. And I liked a bit of privacy as well. Embry was absent, as usual. He was another one who preferred to take his business to the bus. He almost never went in the dressing room immediately after a show. He'd be here in about two hours, flushed and sweaty, no girl in sight. She'd be on her way home in a cab - we never even saw Embry's conquests.

Blondie came back with my drink and handed it to me, holding one that looked just like it herself. I hoped she could hold her liquor. It wasn't fun to fuck someone with vomit in their hair - though I'd done it on more than one occasion. I put my arm around her and pulled her in for a nice soul kiss, jamming my tongue into her mouth and sucking hers into mine.

She moaned in ecstasy. Yep, I'm here, making your dreams come true, baby. Give it over.

I pulled away and took a swig of my drink, letting its heat run through my veins and leaning my head back on the sofa. "Good show tonight," I commented to Seth, who had a handful of the redhead's hair and was pushing her face down into his lap. He grinned at me.

"Yeah, that take on Swansong was fuckin amazing, man," he said, complimenting my improvisation on one of the tracks from our latest release. The gotes looked at us like we were crazy - they always did. They expected that we'd be completely focused on them and everything else would be secondary. Little did they know: We weren't even thinking about them, except for what they had in their bras and panties. To me, they barely had faces.

"No shit, right?" I agreed. "Nice job following me."

He shrugged complacently. "It's what I do," he said.

"Here's what I do," Blondie said, bringing the conversation back to herself. She turned and straddled me, her tiny skirt riding up practically to her navel. She reached beneath herself quickly and pulled my fly open, letting that rascal in my pants free. At the same time, she pushed her panties aside. I flipped a condom out of the dish on the table and she expertly rolled it on me as she readjusted that dirty little skirt of hers. She slid her soaking entrance over my now half-hard cock and began sliding up and down, staring at me and licking her plump pink lips.

Okay, maybe I was wrong. She was no innocent - nothing about this girl was star-struck or shy. She'd fooled me, but that wasn't very hard. What's more, I couldn't care less. I was buried balls deep in her hot, wet tightness. Now if I could just find a place to put my hands...

As if she read my mind, she opened her little blouse, letting her beautiful salmon-tipped orbs out to play. I latched on with my lips and teeth, her head falling back as she hissed, enraptured.

With one quick movement, I turned her over so she was underneath me and started plowing into her, making sure she'd have trouble walking out of there. My pants weren't even down. She squealed and squirmed beneath me, her face staring up at me, awed. Yeah, she was _awed_, because I'm hung like a horse. I didn't kiss her again. You never want to let them get too attached. After about fifteen solid minutes of pumping, I let go, collapsing on her rudely. Shit, that didn't take too long - but it was only the first time tonight. I had at least three more in me, and she hadn't come yet anyway. Not that I necessarily cared about that either way. If she did, great. If not, well...not my problem.

I kissed her cheek once and pushed off her, getting up to grab some more food. She readjusted herself without batting an eye, proof that she was a pro groupie. Any real girl would've stared after me, hurt. This one was used to it.

I made myself a plate of fruit and brownies, and grabbed another bottle of water; the first one was gone. While I was at the table, she refilled my drink. Ahh, yes. Sometimes it was nice to have a pro.

I infrequently bothered to ask a name. She was Blondie, sweetheart, honey or babe. The gote last night had been Tits McGee, dubbed that after an afternoon viewing of Will Ferrell in Anchorman. We'd all had a good laugh over that one, even Tits herself. Night before that...ah, who remembered?

But this girl intrigued me somehow. So I asked. Something I _very rarely_, if ever, did.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" I asked.

"Rosalie," she answered sassily. She knew the score. She hadn't been asked her name much, and this was something she was now proud of - that I'd actually bothered.

"Is your boyfriend still waiting for you?" I questioned.

"No, my boyfriend left, but my cousin's out there. She's with the roadies."

"Your cousin?" I asked, amused. "She a pro like you?"

Blondie laughed derisively. "No way!" she said. "I'm pretty sure she's a virgin."

The room stopped. "A virgin?" I asked. How archaic. Was there such a thing anymore? I hadn't even heard the term in years.

"She's not a virgin anymore," Paul commented, "if she's back there with Jasper and Emmett." We all laughed.

"I know," Blondie said ruefully. "But you might be surprised. She's pretty committed. It's pathetic. She says she's _saving_ herself."

"For Jasper and Emmett? Yeah, I can see that," Paul joked, cracking us up again.

"No, for_ marriage_," Blondie giggled.

Seth rolled his eyes in disgust. The last thing we wanted to talk about with gotes was marriage. "Come on, Red," he said, leading her across the dressing room and out the door. Ah, fuck! He was going to the bus. And the bus would only comfortably accommodat two band members and their gotes. Now I didn't have a place to go.

Well, Quil was pretty distracted right now, and Paul was over there with his twins. I guess I could still fuck Blondie, right there on the couch. It wasn't like I'd never done it before - I mean, obviously, I'd done it just a couple of minutes ago. But I didn't like leaving my bare ass in the air in a room full of people. So I guess she was gonna have to be on top, and my blow job would have to wait for another time.

"Reverse cowgirl," I whispered in her ear. Yeah, she was a pro alright. She instantly turned herself around, whipping off her thong in one smooth sweep. She sat on my lap with her back to me, and I hiked myself back on the sofa, lying with my head on one of the arms. She rearranged herself so she was over my cock again. I put on the condom myself this time and watched as she undid the button on her skirt. Oh, she was taking it off now? How considerate - now I'd have an unobstructed view of her rear as she gyrated on top of me. Nice.

She began riding me, and this time I held off. I watched the fine curve of her ass as she worked me over, moaning my name. She had a little tramp-stamp tattoo on her lower back – you know the kind – with our band logo and name, a howling wolf with Difficult Wolves lettering intertwined. I stared at it as she reached back for my hands and placed them on her boobs. I was happy to oblige - I squeezed them, closing my eyes to concentrate on the wobbly globes under my palms. Her nipples were like marbles, hard and round. As she writhed on my dick, I rolled them between my fingers, causing her to suck air in between her teeth. Did that hurt? Eh, I didn't really care. It felt good to me.

Now, for some stupid, fucked up reason, my mind kept on going back to her cousin. Some little chick, trapped in one of the crappier buses with the roadies, having to give them whatever to avoid being ridiculed. That was a much seedier scene than this one, believe it or not, despite the fact that blatant sex was occurring everywhere you looked. The roadies' bus is an actual shit shack - a genuine bus with seats halfway down the aisle and the back cold and vacant with a few mattresses scattered on the floor for the guys and some storage space for the more delicate instruments. It was no place for some little virgin.

I was momentarily distracted by the opening of the dressing room door. See, that's the other problem with fucking in the dressing room. The staff was instructed as part of the rider to restock the room periodically. The menu changed as the night wore on; there'd be more booze and more water, fewer soft drinks, some Red Bull and Monster, and things like popcorn and pizza. An urn would eventually be rolled in with coffee and all the accompanying condiments, and later there'd be pastries. If it was only a one-night stand, we'd spend the night in the dressing room, so it only followed that we'd need refreshments periodically. Y'know, it's one thing to fuck in front of your bandmates. It's another to have some random dude that works for the venue eyeing your nuts.

Just for a second, though. I was only distracted for a second. Then I looked back up at Blondie, who gave me a wicked grin over her shoulder. I felt her nails scritching along my balls, then her hand, soft and warm, cupped them and began a massage that brought me right back to the present. "Oh, _fuck_ yeah," I moaned.

I got the feeling she was getting bored and wanted to speed things up so she could get this over with and go home. But I liked to take my time. She was there for me, not the other way around, right? I'm the rock star.

Ah, shit, she was just a little _too_ good. I was gonna come now, despite my resolve to wait. Oh well - twice was okay. Three times was better but I could do with twice. And I wanted to kind of get her out of there too. Her cousin weighed on my mind. I went ahead and let it go, sighing out a long groan as I did. She actually came too, sucking me completely dry. I suspected her hands had been busy between her legs 'cause I sure as hell didn't try to get her off. She turned around, lifting herself off me and grinning sexily. "Thanks, baby," she said, planting a kiss on my lips. "You're unbelievable. I gotta go, sorry."

"Yeah, rescue your cousin," I told her, standing up and tossing the used cock sock in the trash. I tucked myself back in my jeans and zipped up.

Blondie turned back to me, a quizzical expression on her face. "What – you're worried about my cousin?" she asked. She wasn't being confrontational, she genuinely didn't understand. To be honest, neither did I.

I looked down at her. Why _did_ I care? I guess I felt like she was an innocent. I seriously hadn't even heard of a virgin in years. Something about it got to me. And it wasn't like me. I didn't know what it was...but for some reason the big famous rock idol was bothered by the little virgin.

I shrugged at Blondie. "I dunno," I said. "For some reason it's bugging me."

She regarded me for a second. "Wanna come meet her?" she asked.

I stood there, thinking. Did I? What would it accomplish? I guess I'd satisfy my curiosity at least. "Yeah, okay," I muttered. I finished my fourth drink in one gulp, grabbed another bottle of water and a banana, and put my jacket on. "C'mon, I'll show you where the roadies are."

We walked down the hall to the backstage door and she pushed through, holding it open for me to pass. "Thanks for coming with me, Jake. I hate pounding on all the bus doors trying to find someone."

"Been in this boat before, honey?" I asked, grinning down at her.

She snorted a laugh. "Not with my cousin, but a few times with friends," she admitted ruefully.

We walked along silently for a few dozen yards while I ate my banana. The buses were out back in a fenced off area. Besides our big, tricked-out vehicle, there were about four other buses and a few trailers. A band this size needed a lot of equipment and a lot of staff. I knew which bus Emmett would be in, so that made it a little easier. Plus I had grabbed the ring of keys to all the vehicles that we always kept in the dressing room for emergencies. I took her to the roadie bus and banged on the door once while unlocking it.

"Hey you bunch of rejects," I yelled, walking in. "It's me. Is there a..." It suddenly occurred to me that I didn't know the cousin's name. I turned to Blondie. "What's your cousin's name?" I asked.

"Bella," she said.

"Is there a Bella here?" I asked into the darkness.

Emmett emerged from the black interior, shirtless and buttoning his jeans. "Hey, Jake," he greeted me. "S'up? Whaddya doin' out here in the slum?"

"Lookin' for Blondie's cousin. Bella. She here?"

"I don't fuckin know," he grinned. "Who asks names?" He turned back to the interior of the bus. "Bella?" he said.

Nothing. Shit.

"She's not here?" Blondie said worriedly. "Is there another roadie bus?"

"Nah, but don't worry," I said, beginning to regret coming out here with her. I stepped back out into the cooling night. "I'm sure you'll find her." I turned to go back to the stage door.

"You're not going to help me?" she asked, her pink lower lip pouting out.

I looked at her, annoyed. I knew it was stupid to come out here. What the hell had I been thinking? Ah, shit, she looked really worried. Okay. "Let's just make sure she isn't in this bus," I said, climbing back in. Blondie followed me.

Emmett got in the driver's seat and turned the lights on in the passenger section of the bus. Groans emitted from almost every seat - all the roadies were busy getting their reward. Lots of girls liked the roadies more than the actual band members. And some were just looking to get laid by anyone associated with the band. The roadies got almost as much tail as we did.

"Ah, shaddup," I said good-naturedly, leading Blondie down the aisle. She looked from side to side, but apparently no one was there that she recognized. We got to the back and checked out the mattresses, but she wasn't there either. We turned to go, but then Blondie gasped.

"Bella?" she said, staring into the dark back corner of the bus, where one of the pricier keyboards was stored. Sitting in a ball behind it, I could just make out a pair of jean-clad legs tucked under a skinny body with long dark hair. This must be Bella - the virgin.

She poked her head out and I could see how pissed off she was in one glance. "Rose, what the heck?" she demanded.

"Oh, you were looking for the _virgin_," Emmett laughed. "Why didn't you say so?"

Bella turned three shades of red. I could tell right away that she'd already been given a plateful of shit for the virgin thing. It was written all over her face. Then her eyes fell on me.

They widened and her little mouth popped open before she could control it. "Ohmygod, you're Jake Black!" she almost whispered, awed. There were guffaws from the roadies.

"You're Jake Black," mimicked Jasper in a high-pitched voice. Jasper was close friends with Emmett and he'd been with us almost as long. Kid knew his stuff - and could do amazing things with keyboards. He'd replaced Quil on occasion, when Quil was too hung over to play.

"Shut the fuck up, Whitlock," I told him, still looking at this Bella chick. Something about her...

"She's a huge fan," Blondie told me, smiling at Bella indulgently.

"Hey, baby, thanks for coming out tonight," I said automatically. It was something I always said whenever girls told me they were fans before, during, or after a show. It was almost like a reflex now.

Bella's round eyes flicked from me to Blondie. "Did you...?" she broke off, dropping her gaze. Even I knew what she was asking - if Blondie and I had done the dirty deed.

Blondie didn't answer. "Come on, Bella, let's go," she said, grabbing Bella's hand. Reluctantly, Bella allowed herself to be led away, looking over her shoulder at me.

"Hey," I called as they got to the front of the bus. "You comin' out tomorrow?"

"Tonight was your last show here," Blondie said.

I looked to Emmett. "Is that right?" I asked. We traveled so much, I never knew where we were or how long we'd been there.

"Yep, Milwaukee tomorrow night," he confirmed.

"How far is that?" I asked Blondie.

"It's like two hours," she answered. "But I don't have tickets anyway."

"If I get you a couple of tickets, you'd come out?" I said. I didn't even know why I was asking. I never did stuff like this. I had never once used a free ticket for one of my friends or family members, let alone one of my conquests. I knew we had a shit-ton, though. It was part of the rider. Emmett usually carried them. He whipped two out and handed them to me. "Make 'em good," I said under my breath. He pulled a different pair from the bottom of the pile.

"Ohmygod, seriously?" Blondie wasn't the pro groupie any more. She was back to the star-struck girl. I couldn't figure her out. "Yeah we would. Right, Bella?"

Bella nodded, her mouth still agape as she looked at me. I figured I'd give the kid a break. I took the tickets from Emmett and strode up the aisle. I handed them to Bella and leaned down, kissing her once on the cheek. "See you tomorrow, baby," I said.

Emmett was right behind me and handed them both laminated Backstage Pass lanyards. "Come see me first, little virgin. I'll get you where you need to be," he said, raising his eyebrows a few times. The girls left with twin smiles plastered across their faces. As they descended the stairs of the bus, I heard the virgin say, "He called me _baby_! _Twice_!"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here is installment number two - I hope you like. I've gotten a good response so far - lots of us like bad boy Jake and so far he's pretty bad in this one. Sorry, not a lot of Bella interaction in this chapter either, but you'll find out some other fun stuff - and our boy Edward makes an appearance. Let me know what you think!**

**All characters you recognize belong to Stephenie Meyers. The story, as usual, is mine!**

CHAPTER TWO

Sadly, I wasn't the only one who heard her say that. Emmett burst out laughing, turning to me. "Look at you!" he said sarcastically. "You got the little virgin all wound up!"

"I still got it," I grinned, but I felt sort of bad saying it. "What's this about a virgin?"

"Yeah, get this, Jake. She was with your gote, so Blondie was all, 'What about my cousin?' and the little chick is kind of cute so I told Blondie I'd look after her. Why not, right? I bring her in here and start putting the moves on her, and she pulls away and tells me that she's a _virgin_!"

"Get the fuck out," I deadpanned.

"Swear to God, man," he answered. He didn't seem bothered by it. He seemed to find it funny. "So I figure, well, that's okay – there's plenty of chicks hanging around, but the little virgin is all sad and I think she's going to cry or something, so to cheer her up I started messing around with her – y'know, teasing her. Saying shit like, 'What, you never found a guy who was willing?' or 'You're a dyke, right?' Y'know, funny shit that I thought would make her laugh."

Emmett's a nice guy, but I never said he was brilliant.

"You thought that would make her laugh?" I grinned.

"Makes _me_ laugh," he explained, shrugging. "But instead of cheering her up it kind of seemed to piss her off."

"You don't say," I commented.

"And yeah, so then the rest of the guys started in and she just went to the back and hid. I actually forgot about her." He glanced up at me, his grin fading. "Sorry. Blondie was worried, huh? She dragged you out here?"

I shrugged. "Nah, it's okay. Boring back in the dressing room anyway. Paul and the twins were making too much noise."

"But you got to do Blondie, right?" he asked. "'Cause I haven't seen a nicer piece of ass in a long time."

"Eh," I said dismissively. "Seth went out to the bus before I had my chance to take her there so I had to do it in the dressing room. It was okay though." Emmett knew my routine of taking my gotes to the bus, but I didn't want him to feel responsible that I didn't get enough tonight. I could've made Blondie give it to me a few more times – it was my own choice not to do anything in the dressing room.

"There's a bunch of bitches back of the bus," he offered.

"I think I'll pass," I said derisively. "I've seen the shit you drag in." I was kidding, of course. I didn't particularly care what they looked like, as long as they had three operational inputs.

_Or they're virgins,_ a little voice I hadn't heard in what seemed like decades remarked from the back of my head.

What? What the fuck was that?

Emmett must've noticed the change in my face, because he suddenly had something pressing to do in the back of the bus. "Okay, well - see ya, dude," he said, turning away.

I stepped back off the bus and began to walk back to the stage door, lost in thought. What _was _that? I didn't want a virgin. From what I remembered, they were too damn much work! And where had that voice come from? It stirred a memory in me – but I couldn't put my finger on it.

As I ambled back to the door, it swung open and out into the night stepped Edward Masen. Our manager. Fuck.

Ed and I didn't really gel. He got along much better with Paul, who was technically the leader anyway, and Seth, the bassist. In fact, there was always some kind of altercation bubbling just under the surface with Ed and me. He was a pompous British prick, and though I knew we needed at least one Brit on the payroll if we wanted to call ourselves a classic rock band, I sometimes wished it were anyone – _anyone_ but him.

"Jacob," he greeted me in his hifalutin accent.

"Hey, Ed, what's up?" That was another thing. He insisted that everyone call him Edward. And he used everyone else's full names too. Like a nun or something. You believe that shit? Who wants to be called _Edward_ when they could have a cool nickname like Ed? It bugged the shit out of him that I wouldn't comply. Another thing between us.

I could see him seething beneath the surface. See what I mean – always an altercation. "I wanted to speak with you," he said. Big surprise. "What you did on the second encore was a little unorthodox."

"What did I do?" I asked, mystified. I'd never understand this dude. We'd played a fuckin second encore – what more did he want?

"The playlist says Freebird," he said, sounding like the pansy that he was. "The fans pay a lot of money to see you play for two hours. The least you can do is stick to the program."

I started to get hot. Fuck you, Ed. "Uh, if you're so concerned about it, maybe you should've been there when we got offstage. Paul is as fucked up as I've ever seen him. He didn't have another half hour in him."

"He seems to have plenty of energy for other activities," Ed remarked caustically. I knew he'd been to the dressing room and seen Paul with the twins.

"Nothing that requires brains," I countered. "And the crowd loved it anyway."

"I'll give you that, though it doesn't make it right."

I rolled my eyes, annoyed. "So should I just go back and change the past, or what?" I asked facetiously.

"Just letting you know I wasn't pleased," he said dismissively. "Try to recall who works for whom. The fans pay your salary, not the other way 'round. Show some respect."

Okay, now I was fuming. I cocked an eyebrow at him instead of punching his face. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" I asked belligerently.

He inclined his head like the biggest stuck up asshat on the planet and said, "I've seen the way you treat the young lady fans, Jacob. It's reprehensible."

_What!?_ Oh _hell_ no! He was gonna call me on that?_ All_ of us did that, from Paul right down to the newest roadie on the payroll! And reprehensible - please! Nothing I did was any different from what everyone else did, including his precious Paul. In fact, Paul was _much _worse with his doubles on a nightly basis. As my face reddened with rage, he continued, "We have three more weeks of this tour. Let's see if you can clean it up a touch until then, shall we?"

Oh, you motherfucker! I was speechless as he stalked away. I was so pissed off that I decided then and there to just go back to the hotel. Fuck this. I only got off twice, my gote left early, and now I just got chewed out by my douche manager. What a shitty night it was turning out to be.  
I wasn't leaving without my favorite axe, though. I didn't trust anyone with that baby. I was pretty sure the guys had taken it in the load out, so I turned toward the roadie bus and stomped back over there. The door was still open, and I barged right in.

"Hey, Emmett!" I called from the stairs. "You got my Dragonfly ready?"

"Yep!" I heard from the darkness. A few shuffling noises later, he emerged from the aisle of the bus carrying my beauty. "You leaving already?" Then he got a look at my face. "What the fuck, man? You looking for a fight?"

"Fuckin Masen chewed my ass out over the second encore," I spat, ready to punch a brick wall. I didn't mention his other remark about the gotes – I don't know why.

"Why, what was wrong with it?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"I don't fuckin know, but I'm outta here. Tell the guys if they ask. See you tomorrow." I took the Dragonfly and walked off the bus.

Now I'd have to catch a cab. Fuck me - this night was really starting to suck. I went around the side of the amphitheater and took my phone out. I called a taxi number that works in just about any big city: 829-4222. Because it spells taxicab.

Eddie-boy was gonna be pissed. We contracted for cars, but I didn't want to go back in to see what service I was supposed to call. Fuck him anyway. This was easier.

Ten chilly minutes later, minutes I spent picking out a new tune, the car showed up. And lo and behold, in the back seat was a cocktail waitress or something, judging by her clothes. She must've worked in some sports themed bar. She wore black short-shorts, a tight tee shirt striped like a ref's, and little ankle socks with tennis shoes. The driver was a big black dude.

"Hey, man," he greeted me. "Hope you don't mind, I had a fare in the back already when you called and you're both going downtown, so I figured I'd save you a couple bucks. You okay with that or should I call dispatch?"

"Makes no difference to me, bro," I said, climbing in. I turned to the girl. "Hi, I'm Jake Black," I said, holding out a hand.

She stared at me, awed. "_The_ Jake Black?" he asked. "From the Difficult Wolves? Oh my god, you had a show here tonight! I'm a huge fan…"

All right. Maybe it wasn't such a bad night after all.

The next morning I kissed Ref goodbye and put her on the elevator, a little worse for wear. We'd gotten completely shitfaced after we got to the hotel and ended up fucking in the nice hot tub Paul had in his suite – which was why she was having some trouble walking today. Paul wouldn't have been back last night anyway, so I figured he didn't need this nice of a room. We'd polished off a bottle of Ketel between us. She looked pretty macerated as she smiled tiredly at me from the closing elevator.

"See you, Jake," she sighed sweetly.

"Yep, later, hon," I said, forgetting her as soon as she was out of sight. Well, forgetting everything except how incredibly she gave head. I had a semi-boner just thinking of it.

I hit the bed as soon as she was gone, falling into a deep sleep. I slept until noon, when Ed came to wake me up. Rudely, I might add.

He started by pounding on the door. I mean, he was literally pounding on it. "Jacob Black – open the door!" he called douchily, sounding ever-so-much like he was in danger of getting his knickers in a twist.

"I'm coming, Eddie, you don't have to break down the door," I mumbled. If he hated it when I called him Ed, he really hated it when I called him Eddie. But Eddie was my favorite nickname for him. It made him seem moderately cool to be called by a name that some of the greats shared – Vedder, Van Halen. Buck naked, I swung the door open to find him seething on the other side.

"I must say I'm shocked that I'm not finding you with a young lady in here," he said testily, entering and peering around but studiously avoiding my junk.

"Nah, she left a while ago," I mumbled, rubbing my hand through my hair. I scratched my nuts for good measure.

He gave me a sidelong look. "Disgusting," he said derisively. "You took the car service here last night I trust?"

"Nope, cabbed it," I told him cheerfully, going into the bathroom and not bothering to close the door as I squirted into the john.

"Jacob, you know you're supposed to…" he began, starting in on my ass again over the fuckin car service. Then he broke off as he observed what I was doing. "Don't you have any manners?" he demanded, closing the door for me. "We're to be on the road in thirty minutes. You are to be packed and down in the lobby in twenty-five. Is that clear?" he said.

I flushed the shitter in response.

"Do you understand?" he insisted.

I poked my head out the door. "Yeah, have them send up a pot of coffee and some orange juice, willya, Ed? Thanks." I shut the door again and turned on the shower, effectively drowning him out.

A minute later I heard the door to the room slam in disgust.

By necessity, I took a really fast shower and was back out in the room by the time the guy showed up with my juice and coffee. Ed had also taken the liberty of sending up a basket of muffins and a triple side of bacon. Aw, just when I was really starting to hate him, he went and did something nice and ruined it.

I inhaled the bacon, ate a blueberry muffin, and gulped down a cup of coffee and some juice, feeling better instantly. Nothing like a plateful of grease to get rid of that nagging hangover.

I was in the lobby by the time Eddie came through, and he eyed me suspiciously. "Thanks for arranging breakfast, Edward," I said contritely.

"Of course," he answered, caught off guard. He grinned. "Though to most of the country it would be termed lunch. The bus is out front if you're ready."

Actually, I'd thought about what Ed had said to me last night about the gotes. While I didn't think anything I did could seriously be termed as 'reprehensible,' maybe I could be a little nicer to them. As it was, I barely saw their faces. I knew it wasn't right – but I'm only human. Besides, they were always so _willing_. Who can resist something like that?

I went out to the bus and saw Jasper loading everyone's shit into the cargo space in the side. I wasn't giving up my Dragonfly, so I just passed him up with a friendly wave. It was half-heartedly returned. He looked like ten miles of bad road this morning – it must've turned into a crazy night after I'd gone. I was suddenly glad Eddie had pissed me off so much. Sometimes the afterparty is more than I can take.

When I stepped onto the bus I was really relieved that Eddie'd infuriated me. The place looked like a morgue. Seth and Quil were on the recliners, pale and shaky. Paul was nowhere to be seen, so I took a guess that the retching sounds coming from the restroom were his. Embry, in his underpants, lay on the floor, snoring. The whole place reeked of booze breath.

"Hey guys!" I boomed. "How's the Difficult Wolves this morning?"

A collective groan is all I heard. "Come on, guys, let's _jam_!"

"Shut up, Jake," Seth moaned.

"Well, I think I'll go back and play Left 4 Dead 2. I like using that chainsaw." The weapon was probably one of the loudest in video game history. I knew it and they knew it. If I started playing that game, no one would be sleeping. But Paul picked that moment to emerge from the bathroom, nude, sallow and trembling. He gave me the stinkeye.

"You do, motherfucker, and I swear I'll shoot you," he growled, passing me and going toward the back of the bus where there was an actual bed. He could barely walk.

"Might wanna lay off the blow for a night, Lahote," I said jovially. "Just sayin."

He silently flipped me the bird and fell into bed.

Eddie climbed the bus stairs and took his seat toward the front. Our driver, Phil, was right on his heels, and the bus lurched as he put it in gear. We were on our way to Milwaukee.

I really wasn't in the mood for video games. I'd only said that to fuck with the guys. In fact, I was only feeling a tiny bit better than they looked. So I spread out on the sofa and pulled a blanket over myself. I'd catch some shuteye on the road – be fresh for the show tonight.

I woke as we pulled up to the hotel. Evidently we'd be here at least two nights, because otherwise we never bothered with a hotel. What day was it anyway? It had to be Friday. Milwaukee was too small a market for a two-night stand unless it was a weekend.

"Is it Friday?" I asked Edward, the only one except the driver who was actually awake in the bus.

"Very good, Jacob. You're getting to be a very intelligent lad!" There was evident sarcasm in his tone.

"Fuck off," I told him, getting up and taking my Dragonfly with me. "When's our next day off?"

He consulted his phone. "You actually have a two day stretch coming up. Sunday and Monday. We're staying in Milwaukee on Sunday night, and leaving for Miami on Monday. The Miami shows are Tuesday and Wednesday." He squinted up at me. "Does that serve your purpose?"

Why did he always have to be so much of a tool? Everything he said to me sounded condescending. Was I reading into it because of his posh accent? Well, I wouldn't be baited. "Yeah," I said shortly, and stepped off the bus.

The bellboys were falling over themselves to get our stuff for us. One tried to take my Dragonfly away, but I held out one hand and shook my head. "Got this myself, bro," I told him with a grin.

"Yes sir," he said apologetically.

The roadies pulled up a few seconds later and took over unloading the band bus. They knew whose stuff was whose and where things went. The confused bellboys suddenly milled around with nothing to do, and the guy who'd tried to take my axe came up to talk to me.

"You're Jake Black, right?" he asked. I held out my hand.

"Yep," I confirmed as he shook it vigorously.

"Dude, you're a god," he said reverently. I laughed.

"Thanks, man. You coming to the show?"

"I have tickets for tomorrow night," he said.

"Well, great, we'll see you out there," I told him, turning away. Edward, coming up behind me, had heard the entire exchange.

"Would you like an autograph?" he asked. "Mr. Black would be happy to oblige."

The kid lit up. "That'd be great!" he enthused.

The fuck was he doing, offering an autograph to a guy? I didn't give autographs to guys. I signed chicks' tits, and sometimes their bellies. Once in a while, a less intimate part like a hand or an arm. But usually not on paper – and not on guys. Or for guys.

Oh, I saw where he was going with this. It was the whole 'the fans pay your salary' argument. Okay, I'd play along. I looked to Eddie, shrugging and patting my pockets. "Don't have anything to write on, Ed," I said apologetically.

"I happen to have a backstage pass for tomorrow's show," he said, holding it out to me along with a silver Sharpie. To the guy, he said, "This is good for you and a friend."

I plastered a smile on my face and grudgingly signed the pass for the bellboy. The kid looked like he'd just won the lottery and immediately thanked me, then went over and rubbed it in the faces of his bellboy friends. I had to grin at his evident, overwhelming enthusiasm. The kid couldn't have been more than sixteen. I remembered myself at that age. If Steve Vai or Eddie Van Halen had talked to me when I was sixteen, I'd've been high for days. I didn't put myself anywhere near the same class as those guys, but he'd called me a god – and that's what I'd call Vai and Van Halen.

Edward stood next to me, watching the kid too. "That bellhop is a fan for life now, Mr. Black," he said. He walked away from me.

Hm. Okay. I wasn't stupid; I got the point he was trying to prove. If I wasn't a complete dick to the fans, we'd be in business a lot longer than if I was a total jackass all the time. And to be honest, most of the people at the concert were guys – it was guy music. It was classic rock and guys were the ones who liked it and bought the CDs and MP3s. We were bringing back that 70s rock sound, with the reverb and the screeching bass, the Frampton-esque rock-idol guitar playing, but if I kept being an asshole – we'd probably be secondhand news before we even got the opportunity.

And my music meant everything to me. Ever since I was a little kid listening to my dad's vinyl, I'd been obsessed with making those sounds. When I was in first grade, I'd made a little guitar out of a Kleenex box and a paper towel tube. My dad had found me going through the junk drawer looking for different sized rubber bands to produce the different keys, and that was when he'd started me in lessons.

And though it had taken the six-year-old me away from baseball and Nintendo, and though it had taken me almost a year before I could play Smoke on the Water, the song I was dying to master, I started to really love it by the time I was seven. I never gave it up. And this was my genre – I loved the classics and I loved making new ones. I'd been in several bands, starting when I was twelve in the garage, but this combo had been the most wildly successful of them all. We were doing pretty well; we'd put out several CDs and this was our third US tour. Edward kept talking about a European tour, but we weren't popular enough there yet to warrant it. Maybe after this tour. It had been surprisingly successful. No one had expected sold-out shows all over the country. We were finally making actual rock-star money, and when we got back and were able to take a break, I couldn't wait to start spending it.

I picked up my key from the front desk, lost in thought. Yeah, it would be great to get back to Seattle and start looking for a place. Right now we all lived together in a giant old farmhouse on the outskirts of the city, but that was getting tired. I needed my own place, a rock-star den of iniquity that I could put my signature on.

_And you need some__**one**__ of your own too_, that stupid little voice in my head chimed in. What the actual fuck? Where the hell was this shit coming from? I was no deep thinker – what I felt I said or sang. I didn't need some Jiminy Cricket thing in my head giving me suggestions.

And I didn't need some_one_, either, I argued with the voice. I was doing just fine, thanks – with my collection of conquests growing every night. I'd literally lost count of how many chicks I'd done.

But…hadn't that been what Ed had been talking about before – that 'reprehensible' thing? Well, I wasn't going to get a road wife, or God forbid, a steady girlfriend and tie myself down just because of some lame-ass voice in my head and Edward's hoity-toity standards. I was Jake fuckin Black, mega-stud. I had quite a bit of ground to cover before that chapter of my life closed.

The room was nice, but not overly so. In my younger days, growing up on an Indian reservation so high up in Washington it was almost in Canada, I'd've thought it was the nicest place I'd ever seen. Now I'd call it comfortable. I'd hardly be in it, so that wasn't a problem. I dug through my stuff, which had already been left inside the door, for my gym clothes. A workout after a long night of partying is good for you.

One thing I hated about working out in public: I didn't really feel like myself without the black jeans, white dago-tee, leather vest and snakeskin boots. And I couldn't very well work out dressed like that. But I suffered for my awesome pecs – I changed into a tee shirt from a fictional high school and a pair of black nylon shorts and, putting the key in my pocket, I went back out to the elevator and rode it to the gym level.

Emmett flagged me from across the gym and I nodded back in his direction. He ambled over, a towel scrunched around his neck. He handed me a bottle of water

"Hey, Jake," he greeted me easily. "Your night get any better yesterday?"

"Yeah, I picked up some little hottie in the cab ride back to the hotel," I informed him with a grin. "She didn't leave until this morning."

"Nice," he complimented me, tapping my water bottle with his. "You should be glad Masen pissed you off. Things got a little ugly after you left."

"How so?" I asked, lying down on a bench and gesturing to him to load up some weights. Emmett and I worked out a lot together. We spotted each other and helped count sets. He knew how much weight I'd want.

"Cops showed up at one point," he grinned. I rolled my eyes.

"Don't tell me," I grunted, pressing up the 170 pounds Emmett had loaded. "Paul."

"And Jasper. That fucker Paul is an asshole, Jake," Emmett said, watching my face go red with the effort and grinning somewhat. Emmett's a beast and can bench 250 and make it look easy. Once I warmed up, I could do 225 about seven or eight times and then I'd be done.

"Agreed," I panted as he said, "That's ten."

I swung off the bench and he took my place. I loaded on another thirty – Emmett was so good he warmed up with more than most people could press at the end. Before my pulse slowed back to normal, he was finished with his reps and standing next to me, pulling the extra thirty off the bar.

"So Jasper and I went in looking for something – I forget what, food maybe – and he said something to one of Paul's gotes," Emmett said as I resumed my workout. "Shit, man, did you see those twins? They were fuckin gorgeous."

"I saw," I grunted in affirmation.

"Yeah, well…that's ten. You okay, Jake? You're not working out like you usually do." Emmett was so distractible – he should be a poster child for ADD. I shrugged as I lay on the bench, panting.

"I didn't go to sleep until about six this morning," I told him.

"You're gettin' old, dude! Since when do you need sleep?" he mocked as I moved off the bench once again.

"I also drank about a bottle of Ketel by myself," I said in my own defense.

"That'll do it," he said, seeming satisfied with my excuses. He'd already loaded his weights so I just watched as he took his turn. "Anyway, Paul explodes at him like the true nitwit he is, and Jasper was on him like stink on shit. I thought he was gonna rip his head off. So of course Quil goes after Jasper, just to pull him off I think, and I had to get involved."

I rolled my eyes. He _had _to get involved. Like it was some sort of awful obligation. Emmett lived for a fight. He ignored my silent eyerolling judgment, continuing. "So just about then, Embry finally stumbles in. And, I mean, it did look nasty – broken glass everywhere, the gotes all freaking out – so I don't really blame him but he immediately calls Masen in there."

"Aw, Jesus," I muttered. You never got Edward involved if you could help it. He was a total pussy – I was convinced that big guys fighting scared the shit out of him. More than likely, he'd call the cops if he even caught us messing around wrestling or something.

"So of course…" he trailed off, sweeping his hand out in a grand gesture. I started laughing.

"What came of it?" I asked.

"You ready for more?" he asked, indicating the weights. I nodded. As he loaded more weights on the bar, he continued his story. "You know exactly what happened after that, Jake. Everyone calmed down before the cops got there. We called the roadies in to clean up. The place was immaculate by the time the po-po showed up."

Something occurred to me when he put it that way. "Hey. You don't think Eddie-boy does that on purpose just to get us to stop the bullshit, do you?" I asked him incredulously. The fucker was brilliant if that was the case.

Emmett was as stunned as I was. He stood there, thinking – an effort for him. "Huh," he said. "Wow."

"Shit, that's ingenious. We can't even do anything about it. If we ignore him, the cops show up and arrest us. If we stop fighting, he gets his way."

"Well, he _is_ British. They're all smart over there," Emmett commented. Okay, Emmett. Whatever you say. "So yeah, that Paul can pull the hotties, huh?"

Typical Emmett, changing the subject on a dime. "Yeah, he's got that special something," I said sarcastically.

"An amazing voice, that's what he's got," Emmett said, giving credit where it was due. "He's the face of the band for the ladies. But you're it for the guys, Jake. Don't feel bad." His friendly face broke into a huge grin. "Too bad you're not gay."

"Funny, fucker," I said, getting up off the bench and not bothering to wipe it down. My sweat stood in puddles on the vinyl surface. Suddenly Emmett looked uncomfortable. "What'sa matter, honey?" I crooned. "You don't like my essence?"

He looked down at the bench and laughed. "Naw, that's not it. You think that hot blonde from last night is coming today?" He looked at me hopefully. "And if so, can I have her? I mean, you had her last night. You gotta share sometimes, y'know?" He shuffled his toe into the rubber floor of the gym. I could tell he didn't like admitting he had even noticed my gote from last night. What was her name again? Bella's cousin.

Ho! What the shit was that? I remembered a _name_? Jesus, I was losing it!


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hi everyone! Thanks for all the follows and faves! Also for the reviews - I love them! And apologies that I'm a day late with the update - I promise the next one will be on time, to be posted next Saturday, May 18.**

**As always - the characters aren't mine, just the story.**

CHAPTER 3

I'd forgotten all about the virgin. _Bella._ I hadn't thought about those two chicks all day so far. But now I was recalling her name, her face...the way she'd looked back at me all awe-struck on the roadie bus. I remembered how excited she'd been to have me call her baby. It was so cute. Couldn't remember her cousin's name for the life of me, but...Bella.

Ah, shit.

"Yeah, you can have Blondie...if she'll have _you_," I said facetiously, grinning. "Think you can live up to my god-like status?"

"Oh, don't you worry about that, bro," he laughed, clapping me on the back as he took the bench again. "She was giving me the eye while you were trying to make time with her cousin. Besides, I could out-fuck you any day of the week and twice on Sundays."

Two teenage girls working out on the treadmills looked over at us fearfully.

"Keep it down, you jackass," I hissed at him. "And I wasn't making time with the cousin. She's a _virgin_, for Chrissake! You think I wanna work that hard?"

He ignored my admonition to quiet down and guffawed loudly. "If I thought I had a prayer, I'd do her," he chortled. "Little hottie was cute."

Cute. That's what I'd just been thinking. Wait...what did he say?

"Whaddya mean, if you had a prayer?" I asked. "You think she's unattainable?"

"No, man, I think she's a _virgin_. Like you said, too much work. You gotta convince them you're in _love_." He said it like he was auditioning for a Lifetime movie.

Hm. Love, huh? Well, fuck that, I'd never been in love and I never planned to. If convincing the hot little virgin that I was in love with her was the only way to get in her pants, I'd take a pass.

Only...well, she was so _cute_. That was undeniable. And she'd practically come in her little pink panties (well, they were probably pink) when I called her baby last night. I'd see about that whole love thing. I figured I could do her if I played my cards right.

"You think you don't have a prayer with the virgin but you think you do with Blondie? You're as high as Paul was last night. She was looking at me, bra, not you. She wanted to suck me off but we were rudely interrupted."

Emmett was immediately contrite. "Dude, I told you I was sorry. It wasn't my fault she was all protective over her virgin cousin!"

I snorted derisively. "Yeah, the _virgin cousin_," I said.

Emmett watched my face as I thought about her. "Dude!" he cried, startling those teenagers again. "You're thinking of doing her, aren't you? Don't even try it, man!" He was blatantly laughing at me.

I let my mouth stretch into a skeptical grin. "You don't think I can do it, huh?" I drawled. "You don't know me very well, do you?"

I ambled away, laughing.

After a run on the treadmill, wherein I scared the two little girls away (no one recognizes me when I'm in gym clothes), I was back up in the room feeling a hundred percent better. The show was scheduled to start at eight - or at least that's what the tickets said. But that was a mere guideline. First of all, there was an opening act. They'd be onstage for about an hour. And it was rare that anyone started a concert on time. So the openers would likely be going on at 8:30 or later - then there was a break, and we wouldn't take the stage until about ten. So the show would be essentially over a little after midnight. The night would still be young.

The tickets we had for the rider were usually okay but not great. However, I'd made sure that Emmett had given me the sweet pair. We always kept one awesome pair of tickets back just in case someone special showed up. But we were in _Milwaukee -_I mean, what were the odds? So Bella and Blondie would be in the front row. I'd be playing to Bella all night – and I planned to pull out all the stops.

Again, I marveled at the fact that I was thinking about a girl. That hadn't happened since high school – _early_ high school - before the music thing started occupying my every waking thought. I mean, I'd wanted to get laid just like any other teenage guy – and obsessing over girls was pretty much a given at that age. I never really obsessed over any one chick though. It was more the entire species of woman that had consumed me. Teachers, classmates, friends' moms – you name it, they were all in the spank bank. And the first girl I'd had; Jessica, a white girl from the nearby town of Forks, Washington; had been nothing more than a one-weekend stand. After that, it was just plowing through any female I could get till the band took off, and then it was any female who could get _me_. I never really had any actual feelings for them.

So this was new, this fixation I was currently under, and I didn't like it. But it wasn't something I had a ton of control over either. I thought about Bella. And thought about her some more. What kinds of things did she like? What turned her on? Where'd she live, how old was she, did she have any brothers or sisters? See what I mean? Obsessed.

And _why?_ That was the real question. Yes, Bella was cute. But I'd seen hundreds of chicks that were better looking, built better, and way more attainable than the virgin. So what the hell was I doing spending time thinking about this girl?

I shook myself mentally. It had to be something I ate or drank or smoked or something. In order to get her out of my mind, I decided to head over to the venue and help the roadies with the sound check. It was something I did occasionally if I was bored - nothing could blank my mind like playing.

I took my second shower of the day, and changed into street clothes – or stage clothes, whatever you want to call them. I wore jeans and a plain white tee shirt along with my signature snakeskin boots, figuring I'd take off the T and change into my vest later. I used to wear snakeskin pants onstage, but those fuckers get really hot after a couple of hours. I still wore them now and then for special occasions, like live TV performances or video shoots or something, but onstage it was now mostly jeans. I settled for the black leather vest onstage with no shirt. It was much more comfortable that way – with the added bonus of the female fans being able to see my killer torso.

I managed to keep the virgin out of my mind for most of the afternoon and early evening, until Emmett came up to me at the venue and brought it up.

"Hey, I talked to Masen about switching up the playlist," he began. "I told him I know a lot of people from last night will be here tonight, being that it's a weekend and all, and we're not that far from Chicago." He winked. "What I didn't say was that our two hotties would be front and center and that you were looking to impress a virgin."

I sighed theatrically. "Y'know, McCarty, you're something else," I said. I was thinking of Masen's reaction if he found out I was going to bed a virgin tonight.

"Hey, man, I'm doing you a favor," he said. "You wanna show her your moves, don't ya? So for the first encore we're starting out with Epic Fail, and going straight into Swansong. Then for the second encore…ready for this?" He looked at me like he actually expected an answer. "We do your new one – Made Of Win. He seems like he's in a pretty good mood. I think he's gonna go for it. He just has to let the crew know so they can change up the lighting."

Made Of Win was an amazing number that we were going to use to headline our new live CD we had coming out in the next six months. It hadn't been revealed yet, but it was completely killer because I had a solo on it that would literally melt faces. Plus it was written by me with some collaboration from Seth, so of course it had freaking incredible guitar licks. And it was the first time I'd actually be doing vocals – real vocals, not just backup. The chorus was all mine, and one line in the song literally _had_ to be sung by me.

But I didn't think there was any way Masen would let us reveal it in a relatively tiny market like Milwaukee. And to be honest, virgin or no virgin, I didn't want to open it up here either. After all, it was destined to be a huge hit. The first time I did it live I wanted it to be a fuckin explosion, not a situation where everyone was looking at each other like, 'What the fuck?' And though the song is incredible, the first time you hear it, it does sort I have that 'what the fuck' factor. It's a song you have to hear a few times to appreciate its subtle idiosyncrasies.

_Yeah babe you shouldn't walk past like that / Your nose in the air / You'd best be careful honey / Or I might decide not to care_

_Take a look at this baby / You think this just happens, hon? / If you let me, sweetheart / I can be your personal sun_

_Cause I'm made of win baby, I'm made of win, And if you come a little closer, I can (uh-huh) get you in_

_You think you walk on water baby / Y'know you it's only when it's frozen / You're not the end-all be-all, girl / You're not one of the chosen_

_So give a thug like me a chance / I guarantee satisfaction / Once you're with Black you never go back / I promise you'll love my...action_

_Cause I'm made of win baby, I'm made of win, And if you come a little closer, I can (uh-huh) get you to sin, honey._

Then there was the face-melting guitar solo, and one more chorus. It was my favorite song, hands down. But I didn't want to debut it in Milwaukee, of all places. Our tour was ending in LA, and that's the market I wanted to spring it on.

But then I caught sight of Masen coming down one of the aisles of the venue. I was backstage so he didn't see me, but I could see him searching for something or someone. I watched him as he looked from side to side, down each row. What the hell was he looking for?

Emmett and I continued to watch his progress down the aisle, and Emmett grunted, amused. "What's he looking for?" he asked. "He's panicking. It's like he lost a million bucks!"

Eddie did look like he was searching for something important. We stood there, bemused, as he came closer. Finally he came up the side steps to the stage proper, and veered off stage left towards us. His expression was angry, and I groaned. "I thought you said he wasn't in a bad mood," I said.

"He wasn't ten minutes ago. Catch you later, bro," Emmett answered, clapping me on the back as he skittered away. Shit. Coward. Emmett disappeared just as Edward came around the corner.

"Jacob," Eddie said as he approached me.

"Hey, Edward, what's up?" I asked genially. I figured I'd catch more flies with honey, or whatever the old saying is, so I tried being a nice guy. "Looking for something?"

"Yes, actually," he answered, sounding douchier than ever. "I'm looking for Emmett. He was supposed to keep the FC tickets for tonight, and now that I need them, I can't find him. Have you seen him?"

Wait a second, hadn't Emmett said he'd talked to Edward a few minutes ago? I almost asked him that, but decided not to. Something held me back. And that something was the fact that I knew those tickets had already been given away by me. FC stands for front and center. The best tickets in the house. "Uh, I haven't seen him. You mean he's not here?"

"He's _here_," Edward said. "In fact I spoke to him only a moment ago. But I only just now found out that the mayor's daughters want to attend the concert tonight. I want those two FC tickets for them."

"Well, it's kind of late notice, isn't it?" I asked, trying to pretend I was only curious.

Edward sneered at me. "That's the point, Jacob. Those tickets are purposely kept on reserve. If they don't get claimed, we bring someone up from the rear. You know this."

I figured I had to tell him. It was my fault, after all. Emmett had tried to give me a crappier set, but I'd insisted on the FCs. "Um, see, Edward, it's like this," I began. But Jasper, who was just finishing hooking up Quil's keyboard and couldn't see that I was talking to Edward from his angle, interrupted me.

"Jake!" he called. "Smooth move putting the virgin in the FCs! You won't have any trouble tonight." His voice went all high and he squealed, "Oh my god, you're Jake Black!"

I turned back to Edward, whose face was the color of a stop sign. Holy shit, I'd never seen him so pissed, even when I was on my absolute worst behavior. "You're trying to _bed_ the mayor's daughter?" he asked, his voice shaking with anger.

Like the idiot I always proclaim I'm not, I started laughing. I couldn't help it. Of course Edward would immediately jump to that conclusion, and I just thought it was hysterical. Laughing was a mistake, because Edward stood there with smoke coming out of his ears.

One thing I'll always give to Edward is this: he can keep his cool in any situation. And he hadn't yet called me out in front of anyone else from the band. I got my lectures behind closed doors or behind amphitheaters in the dark, not up onstage while the roadies were watching. But this time I might have gone out of bounds.

He didn't take the opportunity so neatly offered to him, though. Instead he leaned in close and snarled, "You've gone over the line this time, Jacob. This is grounds for dismissal. A scandal like this one could ruin the band. Someone will have to go down publicly for this, and that someone is you. Nothing about this situation is funny."

The grin left my face and I snapped back as if he'd slapped me. "Masen, you've got it all wrong," I began, but he cut me off.

"Perhaps we'll just have someone sub in for you tonight," he threatened. "When we debut your new song."

Oh _hell_ no. So he _was_ planning to debut my song! No one else could sing that song except me! I scrambled to make nice, abandoning all the attitude and becoming immediately contrite.

"Edward, listen, I mean it when I say you've got it all wrong. I gave those tickets away last night to a couple of gotes. I don't even _know_ the mayor's daughters. I didn't even know the mayor _had_ daughters!"

He narrowed his eyes at me. "Then what's all this about a virgin?" he asked.

I struggled to keep from smiling at the absurdity of the situation, but one look into Masen's angry green eyes wiped the laugh off my face. He was dead serious. "Uhh, well," I stammered.

Edward leaned back, folding his arms across his chest as if he were enjoying my discomfort. "Yes, Jacob, tell me. What exactly is going on? I know you'd never bother to give tickets to just any old virgin. In fact, you've probably never even _met_ a virgin. So please enlighten me. Who is this mysterious virgin you've given our best tickets to?"

I adopted a cool, heart-to-heart manner and put an arm around Edward's shoulder, trying to convey a guy-to-guy, shooting the shit among friends attitude. "Look, Edward, it's like this. I had a sweet groupie last night and I was looking to repeat the performance. And she had her virgin cousin with her. That's all. I gave the two of them the tickets. Jasper's full of shit; you know that. I have no interest in the virgin. It's her cousin I'm trying to impress."

He looked at me doubtfully. "Since when do you want to sample the merchandise two nights in a row?" he asked, all accusatory.

"You didn't see my gote last night," I said with a relieved laugh. "She was spectacular."

He made a face, disgusted at my description, though I don't know what he could have found wrong with it.

"Get the tickets back, Jacob."

What? How the fuck…?

"Edward, I can't do that," I said. "I don't even know this girl's name."

Edward rarely, if ever, uttered a curse word, but he said one now. "God dammit," he spat. He let out a long, tortured sigh. "Fine. When the girls arrive, come see me. Maybe we can let them view the show from backstage. The mayor's daughters will get a VIP tour – from you – while we wait for your _groupies_ to show up."

"Perfect!" I said with false cheer. Great. Just what I needed – two dimwit broads, probably ugly and fat, that I'd have to escort around the venue. I figured I'd just take them backstage and show them the dressing room. We could have a pre-show snack. I'd show them all our instruments and introduce them to the guys. Shit. Tonight was gonna be delightful.

"Text me as soon as your girlfriends show up, Jacob. I want the respectable girls in their seats long before the opening act."

"What if my gotes don't show up before the opening act?" I asked him, suddenly worried.

"Then there will be hell to pay," he said, turning away. He punched a number into his phone and I heard him talk to his assistant. "Alice, call the mayor and inform him that it's a go. When his daughters arrive, they'll be getting a VIP tour from Jacob Black. Yes, I know that's not our usual practice, but it can't be helped. Just do as I say. Yes, tell him they'll have the FC seats. Thank you, Alice."

He turned back to me, his face still a mask of anger. "You'd better not fuck this up, Black," he growled, then turned on his heel and was gone.

Wow. Two swears in a matter of a minute. Edward Masen was pissed.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry it took so long to post this, but cray cray weekend is to blame - I'll be better, promise. Thanks for the follows, faves and reviews. Love you guys, hope this was worth the wait!**

**Obligatory disclaimer.**

Chapter 4

I watched Edward stalk down the aisle. I could tell just by the way he walked that he was furious with me, and I was more than a little grateful that he hadn't embarrassed me in front of the roadies. Stupid, stupid, stupid! What was I thinking last night? Dumb spur-of-the-moment decision resulting in a mess that was only getting bigger as the day wore on. Fuck.

Emmett suddenly reappeared at my side, watching Masen leave with me. "What happened?" he asked.

I turned on him. "Thanks, motherfucker. Abandon me, why don't you? He almost had someone fill in for me onstage tonight."

A wide grin split Emmett's friendly face. "Who could honestly fill in for you, Jake?" he asked, a laugh in his tone.

I shook my head at him, hiding a little grin. Emmett was one of my best friends, and this is why. Maybe he wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but he had a way of boiling things down to the nitty-gritty. The guy was hilarious. And furthermore, he was right. No one could fill in for me, and Masen knew it, too.

"So now I need the tickets back from Blondie, and I have to give the mayor's daughters a tour of the venue before the show tonight," I informed him. I managed to make the phrase 'mayor's daughters' sound like 'local trolls.'

"Maybe they're hot," Emmett laughed. We started to go backstage. I needed my Dragonfly for the sound check.

"Yeah, right," I answered. "They're politician's daughters. Ever see Amy Carter? Chelsea Clinton?"

"Chelsea Clinton wasn't so bad," Emmett said conversationally. "And those Bush girls were definitely doable."

I shook my head. "If you wanted to party," I said. "They'd be good for Paul. Drunk twins."

He laughed. "And give Sasha and Malia a few years."

Now I laughed out loud. "Jesus, Emmett! The fuck is wrong with you? They're little girls!"

He laughed along with me. "So what are you planning to show the VIPs?" he asked.

"Dunno," I said shortly. "I guess I'll take 'em to the dressing room, show 'em the spread. Give 'em some candy." I grinned at him and he laughed again. "Maybe introduce them to the guys."

"Great," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "And what about your virgin? Where will she sit now?"

"If they show up, Masen said they could watch the show from backstage," I told him.

"They better show up," Emmett said. "They have the tickets."

Fuck me.

The sound check went well, and I ended up in the dressing room, using it as an actual dressing room. My clothes for the show were there, cleaned and pressed (yeah, even the jeans) so I stripped down and put them on. I poured myself a drink and sat on one of the sofas, picking out the melody to Made of Win. Truth be told, I was a little nervous about the debut, but I was excited too. It was a big step for me – my own song and my own vocals. I decided that, because I'd be singing later, I probably didn't need any more alcohol before the show and switched to water.

It was nearing seven o'clock, and the guys started to trickle in. Emmett and Jasper came in to report about the stuff they always told us; where the stack leads were on the stage so we wouldn't trip, any change-ups to the playlist, and if there were any weird idiosyncrasies about that particular venue, like line of sight issues or strange sound pockets. They were the leaders of the road crew and ran a tight ship, taking good care of us. They made sure we knew what was up, kept tabs on the front-of-the-house crew, arranged the bodyguards, and basically made sure everything ran smooth for us. The Difficult Wolves would be lost without them.

Emmett got a phone call just as they were leaving the dressing room, and he turned to me with a grin, tucking the phone back in his pocket. "Your tour group is here," he announced in a sing-song voice. Jasper, who must have been brought up to speed by Emmett, laughed heartily.

Paul had a bag of weed the size of Mt. Rushmore on the table in front of him and was rolling a blunt with the dimensions of a cucumber. He glanced up at me. "What's this? A tour group?" he laughed scornfully.

"Put that shit away, Lahote," I said, getting up and putting my Drangonfly safely on its stand in the corner. "We're about to have company, and we can't act like assholes."

Now Paul got huffy. "What the fuck?" he asked no one in particular. Seth gave him a snort.

"Come on, Paul!" he said with false enthusiasm. "You can do it! Try a show without any mind-altering! It'll be a new experience for you!" I had to laugh at Seth's obvious sarcasm.

"The mayor's daughters are getting a tour, and I'm bringing them in here to meet you idiots," I told them. "You can get high after they leave."

"Oh. Okay," Paul said agreeably. He gathered up his paraphernalia and put it safely in his bag, stowing the bag under his futon. He grinned up at me. "All set, Black. Bring 'em on!"

I laughed as I walked out the dressing room door. Paul was an idiot but he was a funny idiot. I went down the hall and out toward the front of the house, where I assumed the girls would be waiting. When I got to the ticket booth, I saw Alice amid the confusion, and she had two girls with her who had their backs to me. Both redheads. Great – Seth would be pleased.

Alice spied me and her face broke into a big smile. It was completely fake, because she essentially hates me almost as much as Edward does. But she had her public face on now, and she was playing it for all it was worth. "Jake!" she cried, pretending that she was thrilled to see me. The girls turned around then and…wow. They were fuckin gorgeous.

I put my hand out toward the closest one. "Hi, Jake Black. Thanks for coming out tonight, sweetheart," I smiled. I turned to her sister. "Jake Black," I said, still grinning. "Glad you could make it."

"Wow," the taller of the two said. "You're really him! Thanks so much for taking the time to show us around!"

"You kidding? I can't wait," I said, acting thrilled and being very convincing. In reality I was dreading the entire ordeal. On the other hand, they _were_ smoking hot. I offered a bare, burly arm to each one and nodded at Alice over my shoulder as I took them away. She stood watching with a glare that could peel paint.

"Watch yourself," she mouthed at me. I grinned back, being a complete asshole.

The shorter girl leaned in, caressing my arm. "So, do you have a girlfriend?" she asked.

"Annie!" the other one admonished. Then she leaned in. "I'm Kate, Jake. Can you introduce us to Paul BelAire?"

Jesus.

I gave them a look at the stage and the backstage area, introduced them to Jasper and a couple of the other guys in the road crew, and then led them back to the dressing room. When we came through the door, the entire band was there and it was just like it was before any show, only Paul was sober. They'd already broken into the snacks and were devouring what the rider called the pre-show refreshments. Kate, the taller sister, sat right down at the table with Paul without waiting for an invitation.

"Omygod, you're Paul BelAire. I can't believe I'm actually meeting you," she gushed, typical of any chick that walked through the dressing room door.

"Hey, baby. Nice to see you," Paul grinned half-heartedly. We all knew these girls were off-limits, and Paul especially wanted them gone sooner rather than later, because he knew that after they left, he could continue letting the weed help him find his nirvana.

"My pleasure," she said, rolling the word around on her tongue like a cherry. She whipped a Sharpie and a headshot of Paul out of her oversized bag. "Autograph?" she asked sweetly.

Now Paul was even stingier with his autographs than I am, but these two were special. If Paul knows anything, he knows how to make nice when he has to. That's why he's the frontman. "Sure!" he answered with false enthusiasm, glancing up at me. I got the point. I needed to get them out of there, but where would I take them? And where the fuck was Bella the virgin and her hottie cousin with those tickets?

Emmett suddenly stuck his head in the room. "Jake, I got someone out here for ya," he said nonchalantly, but the look in his eyes told me what I needed to know. Bella was here. And like the absolute professional he is, Emmett walked in to the dressing room, extending a hand to the redheads.

"You must be Annie and Kate. I'm Emmett, head of the road crew. I'm here to escort you to your seats," he said, shaking their hands in turn. He flipped the tickets in his hand, giving one to Kate and the other to Annie.

"But we don't want to leave yet!" the shorter one began to protest. Emmett still had hold of her hand, and was pulling her subtly toward the door.

"Oh, the guys have to get ready, ladies. No one is allowed in the dressing room right before a show," Emmett said seriously. "They won't even let _me_ in."

Kate snuggled in to Emmett's massive arm as the door closed behind them. "Do you have a girlfriend, Emmett?" she asked as they disappeared down the hall.

Paul rolled his eyes at me as Quil and Seth let out a laugh. "Wow, some great tour guide, Black," Embry said scornfully.

"Fuck off, Call," I told him, then went out in the hall to find Bella.

Jasper was waiting for me. See what I mean when I say that Emmett is thorough? He knew he couldn't take a chance that the mayor's daughters would see Bella and Blondie waiting for us outside the dressing room, especially after he told them no one is allowed in there before a show. Yeah, Emmett was in charge of the roadies for a reason.

"Hey Jake, got your little virgin all heated up for ya," Jasper drawled in his Texas twang. He gave me a half smile as I opened my mouth to protest. "Kidding, Jake, shit," he laughed. He led me down the hall to one of the venue's smaller dressing rooms. Inside, Bella and Blondie sat on folding chairs in the empty room, water bottles clutched in their hands.

Again, I was transported back to high school as I looked at Bella. What was that feeling - my heart actually skipped a beat and then a tiny little surge of adrenalin shot through me. What the fuck? How was this chick doing this to me? She looked amazing, though, dressed in tight red skinny jeans, red Chuck Taylor's and a black sparkly top with little strings for shoulder straps. When the door opened and I walked in, she glanced over and those eyes… I kind of lost myself in those eyes. But then I noticed her lips, and the eyes were secondary after that. Wow. Utterly consumed.

Luckily, no one but I knew the effect this little angel was having on me. Jasper said, "Have fun," as he retreated down the hall, and I turned back to Bella and Blondie with a grin.

"They took our tickets," Blondie pouted.

"Yeah, sorry about that," I said, not taking my eyes off Bella. "We got something better for ya. You guys are gonna watch the show from backstage. You can hang out with us between sets. How's that?" I glanced over at Blondie for a second, just to see how she was taking it.

There was a smile on her face that could power a small town. "Are you serious?" she gasped. "Oh. My. God. That is _awesome_. Bella!"

Bella, who was staring at me just like I was staring at her, turned to look at her cousin with a tiny smile. "Is that good?" she asked. God, she was adorable.

"Jeez, you're so clueless!" Blondie said fondly. "Of course it's good! It's freaking amazing!" Blondie got up and threw her arms around my neck. "Thank you so much, Jake!" She turned to Bella. "Angela and Jess aren't gonna believe this. Can we take pictures?"

I had to laugh at her excitement. "Yeah, go ahead," I said. She squealed and bounced up and down, her boobs going along for the ride in a very enticing manner. Emmett was missing the show. And even though Blondie was wearing a different skirt than last night, but the effect was the same. Nice…

Bella still sat in her folding chair, seemingly unimpressed. "Are you okay, Bella?" Blondie asked her.

She seemed to be coming out of a fog. "What? Oh…yeah! Um, that's great. Thanks, Jake."

I didn't know what to think of Bella's lack of enthusiasm, so I started talking to cover it up. "Well, I sort of fucked up last night when I gave you ladies those tickets. Those are the ones we save for VIPs, but I was thinking that Milwaukee doesn't really have any VIPs. Guess I was wrong." I laughed sheepishly. In reality, I hadn't been thinking at all when I gave the tickets away, but they didn't need to know that.

"Who got the tickets?" Blondie asked.

"The mayor's daughters," I answered. "They were kind of funny, though. First they asked me if I had a girlfriend and then they asked Emmett. I guess they're not really picky." I laughed.

But I wasn't counting on the wrath from both sides. Bella turned beet red and spat, "She asked you if you had a _girlfriend_?"

At the same time, Blondie charged for the door, swinging it open as she snarled, "Are they with Emmett now?"

I looked from one to the other in confusion. "Uhh, what's the problem, girls? You okay?"

Blondie whipped her hair around as she turned back to me, a glare on her face that would char wood. But then she seemed to remember herself. She changed her expression quickly, and said with studied nonchalance, "Haha, I'm just kidding. Emmett is hot, but he's a roadie. Besides, I'm sure he's taken."

I'm not stupid, y'know. A little slow on the uptake, maybe, but not stupid. Blondie was asking the same question, in a more inconspicuous way, that the redhead did. She wanted to know if Emmett had a girlfriend.

A slow smile spread across my face as I looked down at Blondie. Whether she knew it or not, her night was planned already. Emmett would see to that. And that left me allll alone with Bella. I'd have a chance to try my moves and see just how committed to virginity she was.

"What?" she asked my smiling face.

"Nothing," I said. "And no, Emmett's not taken."

She shrugged, conspicuously careless. I couldn't wait to tell Emmett.

"Come on," I told the two of them, leading them toward the door. "Let's go in the dressing room. It's a lot more comfortable there."

The dressing room was a hotbed of activity. Heavy metal blared from unseen speakers. Everyone had their personal libation handy, and food was being consumed at an alarming rate. Not only were the band members there, but there were also several members of the road crew and Paul's personal assistant, an annoying girl by the name of Leah. She and I never got along, but luckily she's not around much. Paul's only need for personal assistance stemmed from his drug habits, and Leah's main function was to procure bags of coke and weed for him in various markets around the US and Canada. Edward was skittering around like a jackass, sucking on a diet Coke and spouting out orders to anyone who would listen. I didn't see Emmett or Jasper, but that wasn't unusual. They had work to finish before the show, and they had things to iron out with the opening act's crew as well. However, when Emmett had told those two girls that no one is allowed in the dressing room before a show, he'd been lying through his teeth.

There was still one couch that was free, and that's where I deposited my gotes. I was all attentive and helpful, offering them drinks and snacks. Bella only wanted a diet Coke, and Blondie asked for a Bloody Mary. I delivered their drinks, then sat down between them and tried to talk over the thumping bass.

"So, do you actually live right in Chicago?" I shouted in Bella's ear. She took a sip of her Coke and smiled at me.

"No, Rose does, but I'm a suburban girl," she admitted. "My dad's a police officer in this little suburb north of the city."

Great, a cop in the family. Just what I need. "And what do you do? You a working girl?"

"No, I'm off for the summer. I'm in school getting my teaching degree."

A college girl. I'd never had one as far as I knew. "Oh? Where do you go to school?" I didn't know where these questions were coming from. I never cared about stuff like this, but with Bella I sincerely wanted the info. Why? It was baffling to me. But I was dying to know for some reason, so I kept asking.

"I go to U of I," she answered. I assumed she meant the University of Illinois, since she lived in that state. I didn't know the first thing about the place, including where it was. She noticed my confusion and said, "Downstate. In Urbana."

"Is that far?" I heard myself say.

"Like two and a half hours from home," she said.

"So you live there during the school year?" I asked.

"Yeah," she answered.

Like I said, I honestly couldn't help asking these things. The questions were just coming out of my mouth; my brain wasn't involved at all. But I realized I was fascinated with this story. I hadn't met someone like her before – someone who went to college and had a little life in a suburban house. Everyone I knew was a thug of some kind – drug addicts, drop outs, rock stars, kind of the dregs of society. And here was this sweet, pristine girl, a virgin no less, sitting here in my dressing room talking to me. I came from somewhere else, a completely different place, and I wanted to know about Bella the virgin and her student-y, suburban life.

"How long before you graduate?" I asked, my subtle way of finding out her age.

"I'm going into my third year," she said. I did the math quickly. She'd be about a year younger than me – probably twenty, depending on when her birthday was.

"So you really want to be a teacher, huh?" I asked. Luckily, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Emmett come through the door. He made a beeline for Blondie, who scooted over closer to me to make room for him. Her smile was blinding.

"Um, I _guess_," Bella said, answering my question. She gave me a lame smile. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"So you _don't_ want to be a teacher?" I asked. "Then what do you want to do?"

_Go on tour with you, go on tour with you, _the annoying voice in my brain chanted hopefully. It was all I could do not to punch myself in the head. What in the …?

"I don't know," she said, seemingly frustrated. "How does anyone know when they're twenty years old what they'll want to do for the rest of their life?"

I had to laugh. She sounded so full of despair.

My attention was pulled away from her despondent face when I heard a loud argument coming from the corner, and a splintering crash as something hit the floor. Then complete silence.

I looked up. Everyone in the room was looking at me. What the hell…?

"Jake," Paul began, and as the crowd parted, I saw. I saw. Motherfucker, I saw.

My Dragonfly lay broken at Paul's feet, the neck in two pieces.

I didn't think. I didn't even breathe. But I did get on my feet, stalk two large steps, and punch Paul Lahote in the face with every ounce of strength I had.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hey guys, sorry this took me so long to post - crazy happenings at my place. Anyhow, here's Chapter 5, hope you like. Thanks for the follows, faves and REVIEWS! Love them all, love you guys, love Jake Black - well, you get the picture. Enjoy. All characters/circumstances you recognize aren't mine...**

Chapter 5

He went down like a sack of shit, hitting the ground with a sickening thud. Then all hell broke loose.

Embry and Quil grabbed me from behind, holding me back, as Edward and Seth rushed forward to attend to Paul, who was out cold. Blood poured from his face. I figured his nose was probably broken.

I didn't fuckin care. I was so pissed off I couldn't even see straight. I wanted to punch something else, I wanted to roar out my fury, I wanted to sit down and cry like a baby. My Dragonfly! She was gone.

Emmett was at my side in seconds, his mouth at my ear. "It's okay, man, it's okay. We can fix her. You know James is a miracle worker with strings. He's right backstage, I'll get him in here, she'll be good as new, I promise," he chanted, saying the same things over and over again. I just stood staring, breathing hard as I looked at my fractured treasure lying there on the floor like a dead friend.

I know I sound dramatic. But that's seriously how I felt. That Dragonfly was the product of years of hard work, years of dreams. It was the first valuable thing I bought once I started making money with my music. It was the only thing that mattered to me, it was a symbol of what I'd been striving for since I was a six year old kid on a shitty reservation where it did nothing but rain and get cold. It was what pulled me out of the rain, pulled me out of the cold, kept me dry and warm. My constant companion, my best friend – and yeah, I know it's a guitar. But in that moment, I swear to God, I wanted to cry.

No one but Emmett dared to say a word to me. Quil and Embry held me silently, though they didn't have to because I wasn't making any attempt to move. Even Edward, who I'm sure wanted to rip me a new one, didn't say a word. As the music shrieked incongruously in the background, he and Seth silently tried to get Paul to come to, checking his pupils and putting iced rags on his face. Emmett took a second from talking me down and said something into his headset. Within a minute, a wiry guy with a blond pony-tail and faded jeans showed up in the dressing room. This was James, a guy who never had two words to say for himself, but who tuned my axe before and after every show and who loved my Dragonfly almost as much as I did. He took one look at the splintered remains and let out a mournful wail.

"Oh, Jesus! Shit! What the fuck happened?" He looked around the silent room, his restless eyes stopping on me. "Jake, man, are you okay?" It was the longest string of words I'd ever heard him put together. I didn't answer him, didn't even nod or shrug. I just stood staring like a moron. James looked to Emmett.

"Emmett, what the fuck?" he asked.

"Paul," Emmett answered.

James gave Paul the dirtiest look he could muster, which was completely lost on him since he was still unconscious. "Stupid fuck," he sneered, then bent down and gathered up the broken remnants of the Dragonfly like he was lifting an injured child. He actually crooned to it, "Come on, baby. You're gonna be okay." With his arms full of broken guitar, he turned to me sadly.

"I'll try to have her back before the show, Jake. I'm so sorry, man." He turned away and walked out of the dressing room, the crowd parting to let him through.

Paul began to splutter at my feet and Emmett said something to Quil and Embry. They started to slowly back me out of the room, sure that I would pummel Paul into oblivion if they didn't. They were probably right. Red washed over my vision. I was furious.

Emmett got in front of me as the guys backed me out the door. "Jake, the Dragonfly's gonna be okay. Trust me, James knows what he's doing. She'll be fine, you'll see." He kept up the patter in soft, soothing tones until the dressing room door was closed behind him. Quil and Embry stayed a few more minutes until they were sure I'd be okay, and then went back in the dressing room to make sure Paul was up to singing tonight. We had a doctor on staff for the band, a Dr. Cullen, but we rarely had to call him. He travelled with us, but wasn't normally at a show. He preferred to be on call for emergencies. He'd stay at a nearby hotel and wine and dine his wife while the show went on, only coming in if called. I had a feeling he'd be earning his retainer check tonight. Someone would have to fix Paul's face or he wasn't going to be able to perform.

I turned to Emmett. "Shit, Em," I began, but I couldn't get anything else out around the choking feeling in my throat. I could feel it coming and I fought with everything in me to stop the breakdown. I'm Jake fuckin Black. I wasn't gonna cry. But it took a lot to keep the tears away.

Emmett kept up his calming talk, trying to console me. "We'll get you a different axe for tonight," he finally said.

"I don't want a different axe," I said petulantly, stubborn as always. "I want my Dragonfly."

"Dude, the neck is in two pieces. Even James won't be able to have her ready by show time. You gotta give her time to heal up, man. Come on, I'll send roadies all over the city. We'll get you an exact duplicate."

"It's custom, Em, you know that."

"We'll get as close as we can," he said reassuringly.

"You're forgetting, McCarty. She's fretless."

Emmett made a little shake of his head as he turned away and spat, "Fuck! That's right. You and your fucking fretless. Goddamn it, Black." Then he seemed to center himself. "Okay, that's alright. We can find one. There's gotta be one in a city this big. Or we can have James take 'em off, if we get one with frets." He looked at me hopefully.

"I don't even think I could play with frets now," I told him. "I've been playing fretless forever."

Just then Seth came out of the dressing room and made his way toward us. "Jake," he said, putting a hand on my shoulder. Seth knew where I was coming from. He was an axe man himself and he knew the relationship I had with my guitar. "I got a guy here in Milwaukee. He can get you a fiddle for tonight. It'll be sweet, I promise. I already called him."

"Did you tell him that we're gonna take the frets off?" asked Emmett.

"Am I stupid?" Seth said to Emmett as if he had three heads. "Of course I did. He might have a Fender in the shop that's already fretless. Whaddya think of that?"

"Depends on how it sounds," I muttered. Yeah, I was pouting. I was pissed. I looked at Seth. "What the fuck happened anyway?"

"Edward and Paul were getting into it over Made of Win. Paul didn't…well, never mind. Anyway, Paul was sitting down and when he got up, he tipped the stand over. He tried to catch the 'fly but it flipped right out of his hand. Landed on the head stock." The head stock is the part of the guitar opposite the tuning pegs. It was like telling me that she fell on her head and cracked her neck in two.

I swallowed, wincing. I felt like I was hearing the details of a car accident that mortally injured my best friend. I couldn't stand it, so I pushed it out of my head. "Is Paul okay?" I asked. I didn't really care, but I felt like I had to ask, especially since I'd been the one to knock the stupid fucker out.

"Dr. Cullen is on his way," Seth supplied. "I think he'll be okay. He's sorry as fuck, Jake. He wants to talk to you."

"I'll kill him if I see him now," I said, my fists clenching again. I could just guess what the argument between Edward and Paul was about. Either Paul didn't want to do Made of Win because it took the spot off him for a second, or he was arguing with Edward about me doing the lead vocals. But I could sing, and Paul knew it. I was sure the altercation had been about me. I wondered if Edward would've given in if the catastrophe hadn't happened.

I was about to storm back in there and knock Paul into next week. With one thing on my mind, I abruptly turned away from Emmett and Seth and back toward the dressing room. I had a hand on the knob before they could stop me. Only the door opened toward me before I had a chance to go through, and very cautiously, Bella and Blondie came out.

"Jake, are you okay?" Bella asked, coming up to me and placing a warm hand on my arm. I swung my head around to glare at her. Of course I wasn't okay, what kind of a stupid question was that?

And then our eyes met, and something changed a little. Instead of the shitty response I'd been about to give, I said, "I think so."

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

Emmett and Seth watched us like we were some kind of alien life form, looking from one to the other cautiously. I couldn't tell what they were thinking exactly, but I had some idea. If I walked off to talk to a virgin gote about my 'feelings' I'd never live it down.

So I put on my gruff Jake Black exterior and snorted. "Hey, the show's gotta go on, right? Seth's getting me another guitar for tonight. I'll be fine." My voice sounded impressively offhand. Emmett and Seth looked at me curiously.

"Good," Bella said slowly, seemingly unsure. There. That worked well. Now all I had to do was walk back into the dressing room and be a man about the whole thing. It's only a guitar, Jake, I told myself. My hallway entourage followed me as I stepped through the door.

Everyone was huddling around Paul like they were performing surgery or something. There was a pile of bloody rags on the table in front of him and somehow without our notice, Dr. Cullen had materialized in the dressing room.

When we walked in, the entire room quieted down and turned toward us. Someone had switched the music off, and you could hear a pin drop as I strode toward the little group around the table. "Is it broken?" I asked, pretending to give a shit.

Dr. Cullen stood up from where he'd been bending over Paul. Now I got a glimpse of our frontman, and what I saw was pretty brutal. His nose was definitely red, though it didn't look particularly swollen or anything. What really looked bad was his mouth. He had a very fat upper lip, and blood was dried across his face. His teeth all appeared to be intact, so that was one worry off my mind. But his lip and chin were definitely bruised, and though there was no active bleeding, it looked like it had only just stopped. Edward was refilling a cloth with ice cubes that he then applied to Paul's mouth. Shit, I'd really done a number on him.

"Mr. Black," Dr. Cullen said. I'd only met the guy a couple of times, and wasn't sure why he knew my name. Then I remembered that I was the one that had cracked Paul in the kisser. Maybe that was why.

"Dr. Cullen," I greeted him.

"Mr. BelAire's nose is not broken, but he will need stitches in his lip, and possibly in his chin if I can't keep the bleeding from starting up again. May I see your hand, please?"

Without thinking, I extended my fist to him. He looked at it carefully, and I did too. I hadn't even thought of it, but suddenly it began to throb. When I looked at it, it was bloody.

"Yes, that's as I suspected. You have some cuts here too, from Mr. BelAire's teeth. This will have to be disinfected and stitched as well. Is this your playing hand?"

Of course it was my playing hand. I don't go around hitting someone in the jaw with my non-dominant hand. I nodded.

"Mmm," the doctor murmured thoughtfully. "I see. You'll both need a round of antibiotics. And I don't know if I can release either of you to perform tonight."

"What!" I cried, as Paul made a mumbled sound of protest from his broken mouth. Edward was immediately at Dr. Cullen's side.

"Carlisle, please. The house is full!"

"Edward, your singer not only has a loose tooth, he also has a split lip. And your lead guitarist's playing hand needs stitches."

"We can't cancel now! There are 19,000 fans out there waiting to see the Difficult Wolves!"

Dr. Cullen seemed to think for a moment. "We'd better get to work, then," he said, his tone resigned.

He actually had a little black bag, and he opened it up and began unpacking supplies, spreading them out in an orderly manner. Alice and Leah stood on either side of him, ready to assist, and I vaguely remembered that Leah had been in school to be a nurse's aide when Paul had hired her as his assistant.

Dr. Cullen spread out a blue towel and a laid paper packet of instruments on it, along with some small foil packages of something, a few needles and syringes, and three long, flat sleeves containing sterile gloves. A brown bottle and some gauze were laid to the side and he motioned to Paul to lie back in his chair.

"I'm going to clean the wound first, Mr. BelAire," he said.

"You can call me Paul," garbled Paul through his swollen lip. Shit, he could barely talk clearly, let alone sing. If that swelling didn't go down, we were gonna have to cancel the show.

Dr. Cullen put on another pair of crumpled rubber gloves he pulled out of his bag. I assumed these weren't sterile. He proceeded to smear some amber fluid across Paul's lips and chin, using the gauze as a sponge. Paul winced.

"Sorry I popped you, Paul," I apologized. I was starting to feel bad. He looked like shit, and it was beginning to look more and more like the show was going to be cancelled all because of me and my hot temper.

Paul looked up at me and grinned. He looked like a clown with the solution all over his face and his lips so swollen, but he let out a little chuckle. "You got me good, Black. Gotta hand it to you."

"I guess I kinda lost it," I admitted.

"I'd've done the same," he said. "I'm really sorry, Jake."

Dr. Cullen shushed him, then turned to me. "You've got quite the right hook there, Mr. Black," he said, but it didn't sound like a compliment.

"Sorry," I said again, since I didn't know what else to say. I turned away and went to sit on one of the couches. The hand was starting to throb something fierce.

Bella was instantly beside me, which was fine with me. We were alone – everyone else hovered over Paul like he was about to give birth. "Are you sure you're okay?" she asked in her soft voice. I nodded without looking at her. I felt her hand on my knee. She rubbed it back and forth, and it felt good. Not in the way you think, pervert. It felt good because it was human contact when I needed it. It had been quite some time since someone touched me who didn't want something from me. If it wasn't a fan asking for an autograph, it was a gote looking to get laid by someone famous. This time, it seemed like Bella only wanted to give comfort. And as it happened, I needed it right then.

Something switched in me in that second, and before I knew it I had my arms around her and my face nuzzled in her neck. I forgot all about trying to get her in the sack, and instead concentrated on her warm little arms circling around me and her hand soothingly patting my back. "I'm so sorry, Jake," she whispered.

"It's okay, I'm fine," I answered gruffly, my face still buried in her strawberry-scented hair. "It's just a guitar."

She huffed, then said, "Obviously not, if you get this upset over it."

I ignored the remark and said, "I just hope we can still go on. If the show gets cancelled because of me, Edward Masen is gonna have my head." I sat back up reluctantly. It had occurred to me that I wouldn't want the guys to see me canoodling on the couch with a girl. Girls were for fucking, not hugging.

"Who's Edward Masen? Your manager?" she asked.

"Yeah, and he hates me already," I said. I finally looked over at her and grinned halfheartedly. "We were having such a nice time, too," I said.

She smiled wryly. "I know. I was all set to tell you my life story."

I laughed, though I didn't feel like laughing. "You were telling me what you wanted to be when you grow up," I supplied.

She laughed too, only hers didn't sound forced. "Yeah, I was telling you I don't know _what_ I want to be, as I recall."

This time my laugh was genuine. I actually felt a little ashamed of myself for wanting only to bed her as soon as I saw her with no thought to who she was a person. She was a nice girl, funny even. Maybe Edward was right. Maybe it was time for me to stop acting like a kid.

Of course, now was a fine time to think of it, right after I'd busted Paul in the chops and cut up my playing hand to boot. Bella pulled my injured hand into her lap. It was still bloody, and she took a little tissue packet out of her tiny purse and began wiping the blood away.

"This looks deep. The doctor said you'd need stitches, right?" she asked, looking up at me.

"Maybe you should be a nurse when you grow up," I answered, ignoring her question.

"No, I hate the sight of blood," she said.

"You seem to be doing okay now," I countered.

"I'm trying to put mind over matter," she said. And when I looked at her I saw that she was a little pale. I pulled my hand away.

"Don't overdo it. We have enough medical emergencies here," I said with a little chuckle.

She grabbed my hand again, but didn't look at it. Instead she looked at me. "I can't believe I'm sitting on a couch talking to Jake Black," she said dreamily. "Even if you are bleeding, it's so surreal. In fact, you bleeding makes it even more surreal."

"And I can't believe I'm sitting in my dressing room talking to Bella, the suburban college student," I said, laughing. Only it wasn't funny, because it was completely true. I _couldn't_ believe it. Jake Black didn't talk to college students. Fuck, Jake Black didn't talk to _girls_, period. Jake Black fucked 'em and forgot 'em. This was something brand new for me. I didn't even know how to act.

But I did know that I wanted to find out more about her, and that thinking about her was taking my mind off the fact that my favorite guitar was currently being repaired. I had other guitars, it wasn't that. I just really liked the Dragonfly. I loved the sound and I loved the feel. And I just didn't want to use another axe today, when I was supposed to be debuting the new song. As soon as this thought crossed my mind, Seth appeared in front of us. "Jake, that Fender is here," he announced. "Come see it. It's a Stratocaster."

I turned to Bella. "Do you want to see a fretless Fender Strat?"

"I don't even know what you're talking about," she answered innocently. "Is it a car?"

God, she was adorable. "No, it's a guitar." I turned to Seth. "Where is it?"

"My dude is in the control booth. He knows one of the guys."

"Let's go," I said, taking Bella's hand and heading for the door. A quick look over my shoulder confirmed that the doctor was still busy with Paul. The bleeding in my hand was almost stopped, so maybe I wouldn't need stitches after all. I pulled Bella out the door and into the hall with my good hand, following Seth to the control booth.

It was nice being sort of alone with Bella. I liked that we were walking down the dark halls holding hands. Being with Seth was almost like being alone, because I knew he wouldn't say anything to anyone, and he was probably my best friend in the band. Besides, he was paying almost no attention to us, chattering on about the Strat and all its amazing features.

We got to the control booth and I found myself wanting to show her this cool part of my life. Unlike when I was escorting the mayor's daughters around, this time I was eager to introduce her to the behind-the-scenes processes of the band. Inside the control booth were the guys who ran the show; the lighting techs, the sound geeks, and all the other people the band couldn't do without. I was dying to show this little suburban college virgin the inner workings of the dark, seedy rock and roll world.

The control booth at this venue was small and cramped, like they usually are. It's not like there wasn't room to stand, but it was definitely crowded. But the guys in the booth are usually excited to see one of the band members come up, and this time they got two. The sound was deafening in there, since the opening act was just coming on, so everyone had sound-cancelling headphones on, but as soon as we walked in, they all came off and the guys stood up, wired to see us.

"Hey Seth, Jake!" shouted Sam over the din. Sam was the head guy on the control booth crew and oversaw both the lighting guys and the sound guys. We knew him well. He shook our hands with vigor, eyeing Bella with a knowing grin.

Seth shouted something in his ear, then glanced around the small space. The room was only about 10 x 10, but there was a shit-ton of equipment in there. A guy with long, greasy hair sat on a milk crate behind one of the sound boards, and he had a guitar case with him. I assumed correctly that this was Seth's Milwaukee connection.

Seeing Seth, the guy got up from his crate and came over to join the crowd. Seth and I were both shaking hands all around, and the guys were all wearing shit-eating grins looking at Bella. I didn't like it, and I'd never felt proprietary about a gote in my life. I gave them a round of dirty looks and the grins disappeared.

I liked the Milwaukee guy, though. He wasn't interested in Bella at all. Seth shouted in my ear that his name was Alistair. I shook his hand, nodding. "Thanks," I mouthed.

He nodded back at me and turned to get the guitar case. There was a lull in the music and he took the opportunity to say, "Here's the axe I was telling Seth about." He had a strong British accent, but it didn't sound douchy like Edward's. More like the Beatles than the Queen.

"Thanks a lot for bringing it by," I said as he lifted the lid of the case.

Wow.

This thing was fucking amazing. It was cherry red and shiny as a new penny. Fretless like I asked. And if it sounded half as good as it looked, I might just have a new favorite axe.

"Jesus, look at that thing," I said in appreciation.

"Sweet," breathed Seth.

"Give it a go," Alistair urged.

I couldn't hide my excitement as I lifted it out of its case. It felt good in my hands, and I dropped it down across my hips and picked out a quick eight-count, listening to the sound. But I got cut off by the music starting up again and didn't really get a chance to hear it. The bad thing about a control booth is that it's just too damn loud.

I made a head gesture to Seth, telling him silently to follow me, and the four of us – Seth, Bella, Alistair and I - waved to the booth guys and bugged out. They were busy anyway.

I slung the guitar strap over my shoulder and grabbed Bella's hand again. The guitar bounced against my ass as we made our way back down the dark hallways to the dressing room. Once we were there and the door was closed, the sound from the opening band was a mere annoyance instead of an obtrusive presence. My ears rang with the relative silence.

Dr. Cullen was just finishing up with Paul, and this guy must have had some cosmetic training because the stitches were so small you could barely see them. He'd used some kind of clear suture, so Paul didn't have that ugly black line you see when people have stitches, and the swelling had gone down considerably. Edward was still hovering over him like a new mother with a sick baby, applying ice to his lip and chin, but Paul looked a lot better than the last time I saw him. Though his face was still swollen and bruised, it was nothing a little stage makeup wouldn't hide. He smiled wryly at me as I came in.

"Don't smile," the doctor said.

"Sorry," Paul apologized, sounding facetious. I could tell he was over the whole medical thing. "Got a new fiddle there, Black?"

"Yeah, let's see how she sounds," I answered. I swung the guitar around and ran my hands over it, just getting a good feel for it. My pick was in my hand already, and I started in on the opening strains of Made of Win.

She sounded incredible. Not better than the 'fly, but different somehow. I looked at Seth and he was nodding and grinning. I felt my face stretch into the first real smile of the evening. "She sounds great," Seth said.

"_Yeah_ she does," I answered. Bella was watching me fascinated. She had that look on her face like last night in the bus. That look like she thought I walked on water.

I found myself doing my signature move on her; the wink, the slow smile, the chin lift, the cocked eyebrow. It was involuntary. I was playing my axe and looking at a hot chick – the move just happened. Bella ate it up like she was the first one that I'd ever tried it on. Her eyes got huge. And since I was close, I could see her chest rising and falling faster. She was actually breathing hard. Fuck yeah, baby, I thought. And I'm ashamed to admit that my mind went right back into its old grooves, and all I could think about at that moment was fucking her.

I just couldn't help it. I had a guitar in my hands and that's pretty much all it took for me to feel like I was on top of the world, a god among men. I mean, come on – who wouldn't think the same? I play like a beast. I'm built like a brick shithouse. I have a face that makes girls cum on the spot. And starting very recently, I've also got money to burn. Why wouldn't I feel like some kind of king? And who wouldn't want this?

I turned to the room. Almost everyone was watching with rapt admiration – everyone, that is, except Masen and Dr. Cullen. They were commiserating over something, probably Paul and whether or not he could perform tonight. I didn't care. I was playing, and it was what I lived for.

I finished the first measure of the song and stopped, holding the last note as I like to do. Bella had a huge smile on her face, and Blondie was right next to her, eating it up as well. Emmett was antsy; he had things to do before the show, but didn't want to leave Blondie here in the dressing room with all these horny guys around. There wasn't much I could do about it, though. I had things to do as well.

Like get Bella to sleep with me.

"That thing is fuckin incredible, Black," Embry enthused. They were all standing around me now, eager to try the new toy. Since it wasn't mine – yet – I handed it over to Embry and they started passing it around, plucking out snippets of songs as I turned to Alistair.

"How much you want for her?" I asked him point blank. No sense beating around the bush.

"Oh, she's not for sale, mate," he replied.

"No, no, no," I said. "You've got it all wrong. She _is_ for sale, and you're selling her to me."

Alistair laughed, shaking his head and looking down. "No, mate, _you've_ got it wrong. That axe is not for sale."

I was gearing up for an argument when Edward called to me. "Jacob, Dr. Cullen is ready for you," he said.

I glanced down at my hand, where the bleeding had stopped. I pointed a finger at Alistair as I turned away. "Figure out a price," I said. "I'll be back." Bella, who had been at my elbow the entire time, stuck to me like glue as I walked away. I reached out for her hand and pulled her with me.

I walked over to where Dr. Cullen and Edward were standing next to a table. "I don't think I need stitches, Doc," I said. "It's pretty much stopped bleeding."

"The problem, Jacob, is if it comes open during the show," he said. "If it starts bleeding again, it may not stop, because you'll be moving your hand. Let me look at it again."

I extended the injured hand to the doctor. He held it carefully and pulled gently at the skin around the cuts. Immediately it began to bleed again.

"See, now why'd you go and do that?" I asked. "It was getting better."

"I have to see if it's going to stay together. It's not. You need a few stitches. Just two or three," the doc said, looking up at me as he delivered the bad news.

"Jacob, if you want to play tonight and you don't want anyone to sub in for you, you'll let the doctor do his work," Edward said like the tool that he is. Of course he has to threaten to let someone sub in.

"Okay," I said, rolling my eyes. I sat at the table and the doctor began cleaning the cuts. It hurt a lot more with him fucking with it, but I kept my face impassive. I didn't want anyone to think I was some kind of wimp, least of all Bella.

I looked over at her to see how she was doing with her aversion to blood and all. She seemed a little green around the gills, so I leaned in to her and whispered, "You okay?"

She nodded without speaking, leading me to believe that she wasn't at all. I looked to Edward, since the guys were all still gathered around the new toy and Emmett and Blondie were nowhere to be seen. "Can you take her over to the couch, Ed? She's a little squeamish here."

I was expecting the usual correction from him that I should call him Edward, but when I looked at his face, he wasn't even interested in me. What the fuck was that? He was staring at her, spellbound. Then he seemed to shake himself back into reality. "And who have we here?" he asked her with a grin.

"Um, I'm Bella," she answered shyly, glancing over at me with a little smile.

He offered her his arm. "Well, Bella," – he pronounced it 'Bellar' – "let me escort you to one of our fainting couches." He laughed at his perceived witticism.

Oh, _fuck_ no. Now I wanted to punch _his_ face.

**Reviews?**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N**** #1: Okay, okay! Sorry! I know it's been forever since I updated this story, but I'm kind of going through a divorce and have kids home from college for the summer and things are just insane. ANYWAY, here's Chapter 6 - and I promise I'll try REALLY HARD to update much more frequently.**

**A/N #2****: Dun dun DUN! Correctly predicted by Lasaraleena, now Edward has spied the virgin, and he's smitten. What will our cocky Jake do now? Read on to find out…**

**Thanks for all your reviews and follows and faves. I'm so excited that you guys like it!**

**As always, characters aren't mine, story is.**

Chapter 6

I watched in helpless rage as Masen escorted my virgin to the couch and sat down next to her. He honestly didn't have time for that, but he sat there anyway, big stupid smile on his face, saying something I couldn't hear into her ear. I couldn't even get up and go rescue her. The doc held my hand tight, cleaning it and poking at it until the damn thing was on fire.

Without taking my eyes off Bella, I said, "Hey doc, that hurts. You trying to perform surgery there or what?"

The doctor chuffed a little laugh. "No, Jacob, just cleaning and approximating the wound. The edges of this larger cut are a little jagged. I'd like to try and line them up nicely so you don't end up with a scar."

"I don't care if I get a scar," I snarled. "Let's just get this over with."

The doc looked at me, then saw where my line of sight went. "Ah, I see," he said. "Is Edward trying to steal your girl?"

I finally looked back at him, dragging my eyes away from Bella for a minute. I wanted to swear but something stopped me – maybe the doctor's demeanor. He was too nice or something to swear around.

"Doc, that pansy couldn't get a girl away from me if his life depended on it. I'm thinking more of rescuing her."

The doctor thought this was funny. He started laughing and stopped working for a second. I sighed in disgust. It wasn't supposed to be a joke.

He recovered quickly, though, and continued to prepare to stitch the hand up. Using a syringe, he started to draw up something called Lidocaine and my eyes narrowed.

"Hold up, doc. That's gonna numb me up, isn't it?"

"Of course," he answered, looking up at me from his intent work on my hand. "It will be excruciating if I stitch you without it."

"Dude, I have to play. I can't be numb. Do it cold."

"Without any anesthetic?" he asked, surprised.

"Yep," I said shortly. I wasn't looking forward to it, but there was no way I'd let him numb my hand.

"If you insist," he said reluctantly.

After making a big show of putting on his sterile gloves, he took a curved needle attached to a long piece of clear thread that looked like fishing line out of a small foil envelope using a long instrument. Taking a little tweezer in the other hand, he proceeded to plunge the needle into my hand.

Fuck. He was right. Excruciating. I clenched my jaw against the pain but kept my cool demeanor, and to take my mind off the pain, I glanced over at my virgin.

"Hey!" I began, forgetting completely about the agony. Masen was grinning and canoodling with Bella while she leaned back, looking uncomfortable. "Back off, Masen!"

Edward looked up at me, surprised, as Bella shot me a helpless look. Quickly, I tried to make up my mind. Should I have her come wait by me as I got stitched up, or would that cause her too much distress?

I turned back to the doctor. "Can she sit by us somewhere that she won't be able to see my hand? She gets a little squeamish at the sight of blood."

"Oh, there won't be any blood," he assured me. I thought sarcastically that she probably wouldn't be too keen on watching a needle going in and out of flesh either, but I held my tongue. I just kept looking at him like he hadn't answered my question. Which he hadn't.

He got the hint. "Yes, of course," he said. "She can sit on your opposite side and if you angle your shoulders just right, she won't be able to see the operative hand."

"Bella, come here," I said. "I need to tell you something." I added that last part for Masen's benefit. Bella stood up instantly and was at my side in a second. Edward got up and followed her. Didn't he have something pressing to do before the show?

"What, Jake?" she asked anxiously.

"Sit here," I told her, indicating the chair next to me. With my foot I shoved the one remaining chair away, so Eddie wouldn't have anywhere to sit. When he bent to pick it up, I looked up at him with a sneer.

"You'd better go check on the mayor's daughters, Ed," I said menacingly. "Make sure they're having a good time. Wouldn't want to piss anyone off now, would you?" I said the last sentence defiantly. I wanted him to know that_ I_ was the one who was getting pissed off.

"Alice is taking care of it," he said dismissively, sitting in the chair and leaning his elbows on the table.

Okay, now I was getting really pissed off. This was going to have to end - now. I looked to the doctor. "You gotta be almost finished, right, doc?" I asked.

"Last stitch," he answered, pulling it tight and swirling the needle holder around, making some kind of fancy knot. He snipped the nylon thread and took a tube of some kind of ointment off the table.

Just then, Emmett stuck his head in the room. "The first act is almost done. You guys got about 45 minutes," he informed us. The doctor ignored him, smearing the greasy ointment over my stitches, but now I was getting antsy. I still wasn't sure about that Fender – I hadn't played it enough to feel comfortable yet – and I needed the doc to let go of me and allow me to get to work. I sighed theatrically.

"I'd like to wrap it if you don't mind," the doctor said testily in response to my outburst.

"Nope," I said shortly, pushing away from the table. "Gotta get to work, doc. Thanks." I pulled Bella up with my good hand and towed her to the couch she'd been sitting on with Cullen. "What the hell was that Brit prick saying to you?" I demanded, sitting down next to her.

She seemed shocked by my language, and I was immediately sorry. If the doctor was too nice to swear around, then swearing around Bella was like cursing at an angel. It just wasn't right. It stabbed me right in the chest as I looked at her crestfallen face. She was...disappointed in me.

"I'm sorry, baby, I didn't mean to talk like that," I said, watching her face. "I just...I know how he is."

Her face changed immediately from one of disappointment to one of forgiveness. "It's okay, Jake, I understand. He seems to think he and I should go for coffee or something after the show." Bella looked a little freaked out by the prospect, and I have to admit, I literally saw red. But I held it together and said in an offhand voice, "What do you think of that?"

"Psh!" she said with a sarcastic eyeroll. "He's cute and everything, and I like his accent, but he's not exactly my type."

It was the perfect thing to say to calm me down, because it made me think of her instead of him. "Really? And what's your type?" I leaned in close. Didn't want to miss a second of this.

She blushed - and she looked adorable blushing - and said self-consciously, "I don't know..."

"Don't you?" I pushed. "I think you do."

Just as I was about to move in for a little kiss, Emmett burst in, all loud and full of himself as usual. "Why aren't you practicing?" he demanded, grabbing two bottles of water off the table. "And you're supposed to be drinking - you're singing tonight. Paul's over there steaming his head off." Paul was indeed bent over the steamer, inhaling wafts of it. He insisted on it for his vocals, but he still coked up before shows. I don't know how much steam would be able to combat his chemical cocktails.

But thinking about it, I realized Emmett was right. He brought me the new axe and I stood up, ambling over to Seth and nodding at him. "Let's do the opener," I said. He stood ready with his bass and I opened with a scream along the strings. Damn, the instrument sounded amazing. Seth picked out his part and we played the entire 4 minute 48 second song. Paul was nodding in the corner. Embry banged on a small set of drums we kept in the dressing room. Quil kept the beat with his foot, his fingers tickling over the small practice electric keyboard. We sounded right, good. Our opening song, That's Gonna Scar, sounded perfect, and the Fender was behaving like it'd been mine for years.

"Wanna run through Made of Win once?" I asked the room.

Paul made a move to get up. "You're doing backups on this one, Paul," Edward said from the couch where he was making yet another move on Bella. Paul sat back down looking pissed. I knew it! They'd been discussing whether I'd do vocals for this song when Paul broke my Dragonfly. It seemed like the ultimate betrayal - the two of them, my lead singer and my manager, talking about me behind my back about my signature song, a song I co-wrote with Seth. I looked between the two of them, angry, but I knew I didn't have time to have it out now. With a pissed off shake of my head, I turned back to the band. I couldn't even take Bella away from Masen. Luckily, Blondie had come back in with Emmett and she now plopped herself between Masen and Bella on the couch.

After picking up his Rickenbacker he used for lead axe, he started in. I was using an old '77 Music Man Stringray of Seth's that I liked for bass. I rarely played bass, but on this number I was singing, so I didn't want to worry about lead axe. We'd practiced it this way from the beginning. It really was a special song. I picked up the bass line and started singing.

I couldn't look at anyone. I fixed my gaze on the middle distance and belted it out. It sounded great to me, but I wasn't any judge. Everything sounds different in your head than it does to someone else's ears. When I finished the last chorus and faded out, I finally focused on the band.

Their ear-to-ear grins said it all. I had sounded as good to them as I had to me. I nodded at them, grinning myself. Bella and Blondie started screaming and clapping from the couch, and even Masen was smiling. "That sounded fabulous, Jacob. I hope you can do it again an hour from now." Of course he had to rain on my parade a little. He wouldn't be Edward if he didn't. But I didn't care; I was pumped. And the look in my virgin's eyes said it all. If she adored me as an axe man, she freakin worshipped me as a vocalist. Yeah, that's right, little virgin. I know what your type is - a bad boy like me.

It was getting close to the time when we were supposed to go on, and the nerves in the room were palpable. I was usually Mr. Cool before a show, but today, with my debut song looming, I admit I was nervous. I was using a new axe, I was going to play bass, and I had to sing. It was a lot to take.

But I felt ready, and with Bella watching from backstage, I'd be okay. I just had to figure out a way to keep Masen away from her.

The minutes were ticking down, and I didn't have much time. As much as I hated to admit it, I was going to have to find Alice and ask for her help. It killed me to do it, but it was the only way I'd be able to get Masen away from my virgin.

Quickly, I came up with a plausible story to accompany my request. I spied Leah out of the corner of my eye as she was cleaning up Paul's steam machine while Paul was getting some attention from the makeup girl for the lip. With a glance back at Bella to be sure she was okay – and satisfied that she was fine, talking to Blondie and ignoring Masen – I sidled over to Leah and said, "Hey, d'you know where Alice is?"

She looked up at me, startled. I rarely talked to her. Without a word, she reached down to her hip and brought up a radio. She twirled a little dial on its face and spoke into it. "Al, Jacob Black is looking for you in the dressing room," she relayed. After a moment of static, I heard Alice's laugh. "Okay, I'm just around the corner," she said.

"Thanks," I said, turning away and wondering what Alice thought was so funny. Then she burst through the door as only she could.

Alice is a little tiny thing, but she's a spitfire. There was some kind of past between she and Masen, but I wasn't privy to it. Leah knew but like I said, Leah and I didn't talk much. And no one else in the band knew or even suspected. But I could tell. There was something about Alice that made Masen crazy. His weird yellow-green eyes followed her every move. Now he snapped his attention to her. It was strange for her to be in the dressing room directly prior to showtime. She usually had a million things to do. He was wondering what was up.

I waylaid her immediately, before he had a chance to unfold his lanky body from where he was trying to make time with my virgin. "Alice," I started, nearly having to bend my knees to talk to her. I didn't want anyone else to hear what I was saying.

"What is it, _Jacob_? I have a hundred-thousand things going right now," she said testily.

I decided to act all prima donna-y. I'm a star after all, she's ancillary staff. So I pretended to get a little huffy.

"Ex-_cuse_ me, princess! I didn't know your royal high-ass couldn't be disturbed. I thought I was the talent and you were the … what's your title again? _Assistant_?" She rolled her eyes with a sigh and blinked up at me sarcastically. There. That was better. The attitude was gone, or at least sharply curtailed. "Okay, now that I have your attention, take a look at our manager over there. He's making a pathetic attempt to pick up a groupie. Now far be it from me to cockblock his conquests, but that girl over there? She's Emmett's. And the girl with her? That's Seth's sister. So you better tell him to back off. Seth will rip him a new one."

Alice's glance followed mine and her eyes grew wide as she saw Masen canoodling with the beautiful blond and the adorable brunette. I knew then that my suspicions were right. There was a past there. The two of them had been lovers at one point. Maybe they still were. Alice's eyes went from saucers to slits. She balled up her little fists and charged over to him. She looked normal, like she was just telling him something, but his face changed as she spoke and a mask came down over his features. He stood up and followed her out of the dressing room, giving me one last chance to talk to my virgin before showtime. Quickly I hustled over there.

"Oh my God, Jake, you were so amazing!" gushed Blondie.

"You were!" the virgin chimed in. "I can't wait to hear it onstage!"

"Thanks," I said. "Did Masen tell you where you'd be sitting?"

Blondie rolled her eyes. "It took me awhile since the only thing on his mind was getting Bella to go on a date with him," she said. "But he finally told us we could sit right backstage where he sits and even wear headsets! It's gonna be so cool!

The virgin's eyes shone as Blondie delivered her news. I was excited for them, but a little wary too. They'd be Edward's captives backstage. 'Where he sits' meant they'd be in close proximity to him for the entire show. There wasn't anything I could do about it either. My only consolation was that it would be loud back there, and they wouldn't be able to talk much. I dug in the inner pocket of my vest and handed her a few packages of ear plugs. "Here," I said. "Wear these. It's really loud back there. Your ears will ring for three days if you don't."

Bella held her hand out and I spilled them in. "But what about the headsets?" asked Blondie in a disappointed tone.

"Trust me, you'll still be able to hear everything on the headsets. You gotta protect your ears, ladies."

Bella turned to Blondie with a smug look that said, "See? My bandmember _cares _about me." But Emmett was right behind me. We all knew to protect everyone's hearing. So many of the greats had gone nearly deaf because they hadn't. He took one look at Bella's hand clutching the plugs and said, "Oh, good, you gave them some? Great. Now you girls be sure to wear those through the whole show, okay?"

Now that Emmett was endorsing them, Blondie was fine with it. She gave him a big grin and tossed her shoulders a little, making her boobs shake. I hid a grin and leaned down to Bella.

"Okay, we're going on in five. See you at the first break," I kissed her surprised lips and turned away. The rest of the band was already on their way down the corridor to the stage. Emmett would take care of his gote and my virgin. I had to go.

Now I was all business as I strode, badass as always, down the hall to the stage, the Fender slapping my hip with every step. I caught up with the other guys, our chatter at a minimum. We took a second to regroup at the stage right entrance where we always came out, waiting for our cue. The crowd was chanting and the lights were up. I got a quick glimpse of the mayor's daughters and wished with all my heart that Bella and Blondie had those seats. Nothing to be done about it though. The lights suddenly went down and after a split second of silence the crowd erupted. Embry slipped through the dark to his drum set, sat down and began a beat.

While the crowd went apeshit, a recorded voiceover in a deep voice announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the Difficult Wolves!" If possible, the crowd got louder and they all rose to their feet. This is what I played for - the applause, the adulation, the raw excitement of twenty-thousand fans on their feet screaming. It was intoxicating.

We couldn't contain our excitement, and in a second we were running out onstage, huge grins on our faces. Paul picked up the dummy mike off the stage. We were all miked wirelessly, but the crowd liked the old-fashioned pretend mike. Otherwise it became too pop for them, too Madonna – running around with headsets on. We preferred old fashioned and our fans wanted it that way. Meanwhile Seth and I plugged in our guitars to their amp leads and started in on the intro to That's Gonna Scar. We always hit the ground running, then introduced the band after the first song. It got everyone pumped up.

When the opening strains hit the ears of the crowd, they got even louder. I was glad for my ear protection as Paul screamed the beginning lyrics: _Man when I was just a little lad, no more than three or four…_

The song was an angsty signature piece that we opened nearly all our shows with. It was a tale of abuse and heartbreak with a chorus ending in the comical '_…ooooh, that's gonna scar_.' Paul always made a ridiculous quizzical face as he said that line. I loved this song, loved singing backup on it, and loved the looks on the crowd's faces as they took it in. It was a good eight minutes after all the trills and extra riffs Seth and I threw in, and the crowd stayed with us. Who knew Milwaukee would be such a great market?

We finished with a flourish, and Paul did his usual, "Thank youuuuu!" We took a second to regroup, check our instruments for broken strings, bad keys or cracked sticks; and check the playlists taped to the floor. Emmett was stage left, waiting for anything to require his assistance. We'd need him sometime during the show; we always did. An amp would blow, a string would break, a key would falter – and it was Emmett to the rescue. But we didn't need him yet. Paul looked around to be sure everyone was clear for the next number and did his introductions.

"Hello, Milwaukee!" he shouted. The crowd went nuts. "So glad to be here after that punk town Chicago last night!" Again the crowd responded. "I'm Paul BelAire!" The screaming from the girls was nearly deafening. Yes, Paul was the heartthrob of the Wolves. He earned it. When we'd done our Rolling Stone interview, Paul had made sure he told the reporter to emphasize that one day he wanted to marry a fan. Even if he was utterly full of shit, it got him tons of tail at shows. At least I told myself that was why the women fawned over him. It wasn't as if I couldn't hold my own. But Paul had so many takers, he actually had to turn some away at times.

After the screaming died down, Paul continued. "Thank you, ladies," he said with a wink that was captured for all to see on the giant screens above our heads. "And this…" he swept his arm toward me, "is the inimitable Jake Black on lead guitar!" Now the guys in the crowd responded, stomping their feet and hooting. I raised a hand in a friendly wave, my grin stretching across my face. These guys knew a great axe man when they saw one. Seth got nearly as much yelling as I did. Paul wrapped up the introductions and we moved on to the next song, Like a Big Dog. As we worked our way through it, I began to realize something.

This wasn't my typical show.

Usually during the introductions, I'd be eyeing the crowd for my gote. The groupie of the evening was an important part of the show for me, like dessert after a delicious meal. Instead I was tossing a friendly wave to the guys in the crowd. Was I losing it? Was it nerves because of my song's debut? Or did it all boil down to the fact that I had my gote already – and her name was Bella?

Thinking about it made me remember that Bella and Blondie were behind me and to my right. I glanced back and could just make them out, sitting as they were just inside the last circle of stage lighting before the backstage area went dark. Bella's eyes were like saucers, sparkling like diamonds. She never looked prettier, and I threw her a wink. She bounced with excitement in her folding chair with her little headset on and waved back. Adorable. Fucking adorable.

We worked our way through the playlist as Made of Win loomed – first song after the first break, a place of honor, really. I'll admit I was getting nervous, but I was keeping it in check. My virgin being there helped me a lot, believe it or not. She was so incredibly thrilled, and her intoxication was contagious. I locked eyes with her at least once a song, and every time she gave me some signal that she was over-the-top excited. It was irresistibly cute.

Finally the first set was over and we quickly got together as a group and hustled off the stage as the house lights came up. They always put on a recording of classic rock tunes while we took a ten or fifteen minute break. When we came back, Paul would do one of his stories and we'd launch into the next song, which in this case happened to be Made of Win – so the story would relate to the song. If you'd ever been to a classic rock show back in the day, this kind of thing was _de rigeur_ for the genre. We liked to keep it as authentic as possible.

Bella was jumping up and down as we came up and she threw herself into my arms, bubbling over with enthusiasm. "Oh my God, this is so cool!" she gushed. "When are you doing your new song?"

"Soon as we go back out," I told her, grinning at her as Emmett pressed a bottle of water into my hand. As I looked down at her flushed face, her eyes shining, I suddenly realized something. It should have bothered me, too. But it didn't. My realization was this: I abruptly knew I wasn't getting laid after that show or anytime soon. Because I just couldn't take this sweet girl's innocence away. And I was okay with it. What the fuck was happening to me?

I mean, I'm Jake Black. I was getting laid by groupies while the other band members were still sneaking cigarettes after shows. I'm talking garage band groupies – that's seriously how far back it went. Have a show, get laid – it was like a habit, seamless. I couldn't remember the last time it hadn't happened - or if it _ever_ hadn't, for that matter. But – and I was completely cool with this – I knew with absolute certainty that I wouldn't tonight. And I wouldn't tomorrow. And I wouldn't until she was ready.

The thing that surprised me the most about this was the fact that I was taking it in stride. It wasn't messing with me in the least. In fact, I was pumped to get to know her better, find out what make this little virgin in front of me tick. What the hell was wrong with me? I must've caught a bug.

We talked about the show and she was all wound up. She and Blondie were having the time of their lives, and I was glad I was a part of it. But in the back of my head the time was winding down to my big debut. The butterflies were gearing up for a fight. I needed to get back out there. I slurped down the rest of my water and looked around for Emmett. He was just a little ways away, and I nodded at him so he came over. "How about one shot?" I asked.

Emmett made a face. "Dude, you don't want to do that. What is it – nerves?"

"Yeah," I admitted.

"You'll do great. There's no time now anyway. Come on, get out there and knock em out."

I looked at him doubtfully, but then I remembered my performance in the dressing room, and I felt better. I'd do fine. I wished Bella could be out in the audience, but I'd be okay. "Alright, let's do this thing!" I said a little louder and the guys looked up, grins all around.

"Wooo-hoo! Let's go!" Embry shouted and ran back out onstage before the light crew even gave the cue.

We were all cracking up when we got back out onstage due to Embry's antics, and it swept the tension I'd been feeling away. "Just have fun," I told myself, and when the crowd quieted down a little, Paul started his story.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Dangerous Wolves have a little treat for you tonight. Long about six months ago, our lead axeman here, Mr. Jake Black," – here he paused for the inevitable shouts and applause – "came to me and said, 'Listen, motherfucker, it's my turn.'" Paul grinned back at me as I shook my head, laughing. "Wasn't that it, Black?" I nodded for the audience. They were cheering like crazy. "Yeah that's what he said to me, ladies and gentlemen. So I looked at him and said, 'Mr. Black, be my guest.' So Jake wrote a song along with Seth here," – Paul paused again for the crowd's reaction, and then Paul got exponentially louder and more excited – "and now we're gonna debut it _tonight_…right _here_…in _MILWAUKEE, WISCONSIN_!" The crowd lost its collective mind. Paul shouted above the cacophony, "Jake Black, ladies and gentlemen, and our new song, Made of Win!"

Paul backed out of the spot and I stepped into it. I pulled the mike stand to my lips and my fingers involuntarily started in on the bass track as Seth played lead from behind me. At the exact right moment, I leaned forward and sang, "_Yeah, babe, you shouldn't walk past like that…your nose in the air…" _I lost myself in the sound of my own voice echoing back to me. It was unbelievable. The crowd was rapt. They seemed to be holding their breath, and I almost started to worry for a second, until I got to the end of that first verse: "_If you let me, sweetheart…I can be your personal sun…." _Then I broke into the chorus with Paul singing backup, "_Cause I'm made of win baby, I'm made of win…and if you come a little closer I can…uh-huh…get you in." _The crowd went insane. If I didn't know better I'd say it was the biggest reaction we'd ever gotten.

Fuck yeah! I backed away from the mike and made a big show of playing the Stingray while Seth led me. There was a shuffle behind me but I didn't even blink as I shook out my hair and let that fucker wail. It was incredible.

When the second verse came in, I could hear a difference in the vocals – somebody was singing some of the backup parts really high. What the hell…? It sounded great but I didn't know who could hit those high notes, certainly not Seth or Paul. Was it Quil? I didn't think he had it in him. I didn't want to turn so I didn't, I stayed with my vocals and let them do whatever they wanted behind me. It gave the song a subtle boost, but I hoped whoever it was knew that my line – that '_Once you go with Black you never go back' _part – was all mine with no backup. I liked to sing that part really low, and that's what I intended. The lighting crew knew to train the spot on me for that one line and darken the rest of the stage. We'd rehearsed it that way more than once.

We got to the part, I did my thing, and no one backed me up – just like it was supposed to be. We went into the chorus and those high notes hit me again. This time I turned, and I almost did a double take. Blondie and Bella were back there, miked up and singing the backup like pros. They looked amazing and I didn't know when there had been time to make them up. Their eyes were huge and Bella's black sparkly top with Blondie's red one looked just blingy enough to be legit. Oh, yeah, here we go. Get 'em hooked on performing with us and they'll never get out of the bus.

We finished up and the crowd lost its shit completely. Girls were up on guys' shoulders in the crowd, lifting their shirts up and showing off their boobs. This hadn't happened to us before, and it was pretty fuckin cool. People started rushing the stage – it was almost scary, the intensity of the crowd – and the stage roadies pulled together, preventing anyone from getting up onstage.

Paul took over now, like a good frontman is supposed to do, and shouted, "That was Jake Black singing lead vocal on Made of Win!" The crowd didn't falter in their enthusiasm, and I felt like I'd done ten lines of coke. I was so pumped up, so freaking excited, that I rode the wave for the rest of the show. It was a blur to me. I couldn't have asked for a better reaction.

After our final encore (I was just delirious enough to do Freebird) we bowed out and the roadies took the stage. I slung a sweaty arm around Bella and we walked back to the dressing room together as I marveled at her abilities.

"Where'd you learn to sing like that?" I asked her. She was so beautiful when she was excited. Her pupils were huge and her smile blinding.

"In my room. In the car. I sing wherever I hear music," she laughed. I realized that I'd thought she was made up before, but I was wrong. It was just the excitement showing in her face that made her look so pretty. It gave her a starry-eyed look, and I have to say, she looked better to me every second.

"You want a drink?" I offered when we were in the dressing room. My beef sandwiches waited, and I needed a cold glass of vodka.

"Diet Coke?" she requested.

"That's it? I'm having vodka," I told her.

"No, just diet Coke for me, thanks," she demurred.

I sat down with her on the couch after getting her drink and grabbing a two of my four sandwiches. I offered her one, holding it out. "Beef sandwich?" I asked.

"Sure, I'm starving," she said. I'd save the other two for Emmett and Blondie. I didn't need four anyway. There was tons of other food. I took a gulp of my drink, letting it flow through my blood like a hot snake. I felt great. The new song's debut had gone better than I ever expected. Bella gushed over how awesome it was, making me feel ten feet tall.

As we sat eating, the rest of the band came by periodically to congratulate me on my incredible night. I was still basking in it when Edward Masen strolled through the door. I sat back, waiting for the praise, the adulation that was due me.

"Jacob Black!" he thundered ominously. "I hope you can explain yourself!"

**A/N again – Okay, now just so you know it's a crazy week at work and there's no way I'll be able to update next Sunday, because we have a four day festival that ends on Sunday the 28****th**** and I have to work all day and all night on Thursday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. BUT! I will be better about updating, I promise. Thanks everyone!**


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